Ten answers to ten questions in 20 words or fewer. That’s less time than it takes to burn a match*.
(*Depending on the length of the match and your tolerance for burned fingers, obviously)
Our newest Flash! Friday winner is Nancy Chenier, who in a fit of greedy dragonishness seized her FIFTH tiara this past week. Read her latest (and earlier) winning stories at her winner’s page here. Read her bio and previous interviews there while you’re at it. And now, in 500 (ish) words, please find her newest soul-spill, Flash! Friday style.
Some said it was inevitable I’d find myself here, lost in the enchanted woods without a tale to follow out again.
I can smell the candy house from here, but such sweetness holds no seduction for me. Gingerbread might as well be plaster. Those candy canes can just remain as fence posts, thank you very much. I mean really. Who do you hope to lure with them?
I could do with a bit of rye crust, though, to breadcrumb my way through the bracken.
Over there, see? The baleful yellow eyes aren’t scouring the shadows for me. My jacket may have a splash of scarlet on it, but he’s lurking for redder treasures. I can’t tell if my long exhale is a sigh of relief or a hiss from the green dragon of envy—with writers of late, the wolf’s malevolence is part of his appeal.
On an optimistic note, I have nothing to fear from the scowling and groaning trunks. The lass they seek to reproach has already stumbled over their rude roots and lost silk on their snatching branches. At least she has come out the other side. I’m sure Prince Charming appreciates the homemaker practice she got at the dwarves’ residence. Princesses tend to be useless on the domestic front—at least we have that in common.
Thundering hooves stir the ground beneath my feet, but that’s just another noble-son-and-retinue off to champion another cursed kingdom — neither of which has anything to do with me. From the echo of the clarions, I’d say they’re taking on the taiga hag. Yeah, good luck with that.
I tried to enlist the help of a dashing ranger (dashing enough to make me forget about naughty wolves). But he was in a hurry to take part in another ring cycle, and the look in his devastatingly aquamarine eyes told me the fellowship didn’t have much use for gals, let alone for a middle-aged one who lacked a certain elven litheness (curse those early fantasy writers!). Not to be put off by a technicality (did I mention the chiseled-jaw?), I hastened after him. But, alas, his strides outpaced mine.
Darkness descends around me and still no tale presents itself to lead ol’ anti-hero me out of this interview-fiction. The word count nears its limit. The deadline looms.
The sticky scent of lollipops tickles my nostrils. Ah! A flash of inspiration in the night. I smell/gag my way to the cloying cottage. While the witch is arguing with some girl over the temperature of the oven, I break off a gingersnap shutter.
It’s not rye, but it should keep me from repeating my steps.
Lies and Truths:
–Can’t stand candy canes, but I rather like gingerbread.
–On the domestic front: I HATE housework, but I’m an excellent cook.
–Technically, I am middle-aged, but I intend to live to be 120 years old, so I still have a ways to go. I’m not at all frumpy.
–I’ve had a crush on Aragorn ever since reading the LOTR in middle school (long before Viggo only intensified it). Only I prefer him as Strider (then and now). However, there is no way he would have outpaced me.
–Darkness did descend Tuesday night as I tried to finish this: power outage, a pole fell just down the street.
–I didn’t get inspired in the night. That ending happened just now and there is still light in the sky.