by Michael Seese
Taking a bit of a hiatus from the media-crazy world around us, agent Janet Reid unplugged for a bit of a breather. Upon her return, she said:
I've gotten a LOT of reading done these past few weeks, and I'm planning a post with a roundup of requests, queries etc. later in December. In the meantime, let's have a flash fiction contest to celebrate the endurance of the snot green sofa (where I do my reading.)
So for last week's contest, we were asked to write a 100-word story using:
Starting with "sofa," I came up with "Classic Rock," a title I absolutely hate. But I didn't want the name of the story to give anything away.
"I can make you a star, sweetie. But first..."
"Whatever it takes," she teased, lying back on the sofa, flattening it.
"Cut!" I yelled.
"I simply can't work like this," Rex whined, throwing up his tiny arms.
I agree not everything had gone as planned. Indeed, this quintessential labor of love of mine appeared headed for divorce. On paper, it looked perfect; in reality, it's lacking a plot, competent actors, and passion.
"Perhaps I could lose weight," Vela offered.
Not before the asteroid hits, I thought. Some movies simply should not be made. Apparently "Jurassic Tart" is one of them.
There is a bit of an inside joke where. Whenever Janet is speaking of various literary genres, she'll say something like, "Mystery, romance, or dino porn." So I thought I would give her the latter.
As of the time I wrote this, she had announced the finalists, but not the winner. Her comment about mine:
After I stop laughing, I will be able to tell you how much I love Michael Seese's pun-ch lines.
I'm looking forward to the final results.