Very Short Stories

August 28, 2026 ~ mstturpin ~ Leave a comment

When words matter, pick the right ones

I cut my writing teeth on short stories. Sometimes, they were very short. Working on a novel is quite different. But I’ve found the process of choosing the right words to express what I want to be similar to those exercises in flash fiction. Maybe I learned something? Time and editing will tell.

For now, here are five of my favorite very short stories. Four of them were published in online journals and I’ve included links at the end of this post.

Despite the brief length, each is a complete tale. I hope you enjoy them, and the photos. All the pictures here are either ones I’ve taken or photos of me. I try to pick shots that match the feeling and mood of the stories.

This first piece is fiction, but I’d be lying if I told you it doesn’t sit close to truth. Unless you were super popular in school, I think you can relate to those feelings of being an outsider in the midst of your peers. And maybe even the popular kids felt that way at times.

The inspiration for this one wasn’t my own high school reunion, but an abandoned school that my husband and I drove past one Sunday afternoon. Hence the last lines in the story.

The author, photo from high school album

Reunion

I open my email and scroll past a black-and-white photo—stone lions crouching at a high school entrance. Recollection rings like the end of day bell. Rushing from locker to class, brushing past people who don’t see me, don’t feel me. I inhale the scent of rubber-soled shoes on a waxed gym floor. My arms sag, heavy with books sharp against my chest. Thirty years unravel, an unruly thread.

The invitation, sent from a name I’m supposed to recognize, gradually slides down my inbox, behind offers for car repairs and notices of bills now due. That high school has long emptied of anyone I care to see again. Ghosts linger like clouds of chalk dust, and wander empty halls that echo with phantom footsteps. They climb the stands and cheer for games now played only in memory.

That evening, I mention the reunion to Mark, my husband.

“Thirty years is big. Are we going?” He asks.

I shrug. “I don’t think so.”

I log onto Facebook and find the reunion group. Former students have posted pictures. Squinting at the images, I try to reconcile the faces with those captured in the yearbooks on my bookcase.

I request to join the group. A week later, the group admin replies and asks, “Who are you?”

In high school, she had sat next to me in algebra class. Now, she’s the person organizing the reunion. After searching through my email, I find and delete the invitation.

Months later, on a slow Sunday, Mark and I drive past a building marked for demolition. Broken windows cast blank stares. A shadow flickers like a waving hand, and somewhere inside I imagine a bell ringing. I tell my husband, “I went to school there. I think.”

THE END

This next one if my favorite micro fiction story that I’ve written. It has that feel of the Old West, blended with a crime thriller. If you like it, you would probably enjoy one of my favorite movies: Hell or High Water.

You Can Tell a Lot About a Person by What They Leave Behind.

Fifty-six years of bad choices ended in a job cleaning toilets and sweeping used condoms from under sway-backed beds at the Star Motel. Nobody traveled there except oil tankers, tumbleweeds, and truckers dodging weigh stations.

The place paid in cash – enough to linger, not escape. Drunken nights spent listening to West Texas wind, dreaming of something else. One day, I opened a nightstand drawer, expecting a water-stained bible. Instead, a snub nose revolver lay coiled like a black snake. I climbed into my rusted-out Ford and tucked the gun under the vinyl seat.

It waited there, a dark possibility.

THE END

This next one was a contest entry for Globe Soup. The contest required entries to use the word “hollow”. It didn’t win anything, but it found a home eventually and was published.

We enjoy feeding birds at our house, and crows are frequent visitors.

Photo by the author, edited with the Waterlogue app

An Empty Heart Holds Only Echoes

The day after her husband’s funeral, a crow crashed into Vera Scott’s patio door. At first, she overlooked the small black body on the other side of the glass. The collision’s hollow thump had been so loud she had expected something larger to have caused it.

She kneeled and picked up the bird. Lined above them in the trees, a murder of crows assembled. Cawing, they hopped from limb to limb—loud, black clad mourners.

Tired of death, she willed the bird to stir. A shiny eye blinked. With a rustle of ebony feathers, the crow flew—hollow bones lifted weightless.

THE END

Most of the horror stories I write tend more toward Gothic fiction, with haunted houses and ghosts set in Texas or other strange places. I’ll never kill off a dog, cat, or child in my tales, but grown adults are fair game.

This little story is one that keeps popping back in my imagination, begging for more words. It’s a bit dark, but not gory.

What is Planted in Despair Will be Raised for Vengeance

We buried her in the spring, in the field where summer poppies bloom. Nothing holy grew from our grief, scattered like seeds across her grave.

Her mother’s tears watered the ground. Her lover’s guilt summoned the reaping. Had we recognized in time the truth of her death, he would have joined her under that cold blanket of dirt.

Her bones rose—white roots clawing through black soil to reach the sun. Conjured with regret, she will glean the good with the guilty.

We could have salted the earth to kill the curse, but fall is the time for the harvest.

THE END

My relationship with my mom had the normal ups and downs, plus the complications from her undiagnosed mental illness. By the time this picture was taken we had reconciled and we had relaxed into enjoying each other’s company.

The micro fiction below was an entry in a contest. My entry didn’t win or advance and I haven’t tried to submit it anywhere. Instead, I chose to share it here.

I don’t remember the exact prompt, but it was something like “packing for a trip.”

I chose a darker interpretation of that prompt.

My mother, Christene Hamilton, passed away in 2010 at age 92. Departed finally on that last journey.

The author and her mother, Christene, sometime around 1982.

Wishing You Weren’t Here

My mother will not go. Her empty suitcase waits, ready to be packed.

Photographs faded to blue and green, recipe cards in her careful printing, a hairbrush threaded with silver, scarves scented with her perfume—all lie scattered nearby.

I add postcards from places never ventured, menus for foods never tasted. The yellowed fabric of her wedding dress goes in last. Out of sight, lest regret serve as an anchor. The coin for Charon’s crossing gleams beside the case.

I am sorry for this long journey, our distance fueled by bitter words.

When she leaves, who will love me then?

THE END

Reunion: originally published at Brilliant Flash Fiction March 2026

You Can Tell a Lot About a Person by What They Leave Behind: originally published at Globe Soup February 2025

An Empty Heart Holds Only Echoes: originally published at 101 Words July 2025

What is Planted in Despair Will be Raised for Vengeance: originally published at 101 Words November 2025

My mom: Christene Hamilton

The Evolution of a Story

February 13, 2026 ~ mstturpin ~ 2 Comments

From inspiration to publication

A sign on the trail at the old Cisco zoo. Photo by the author

One of the most common questions that authors get asked is some variation of “Where do you get your ideas?” For most writers, the answer is that we find them in our everyday experiences. This includes people who pen tales about ghosts, demons, and dragons. We don’t encounter those in real life, but we run across settings or objects that spur stories. Stephen King was inspired to write his novel The Shining after a winter stay at the Stanley Hotel in Estes, Colorado. The hotel’s isolated setting and a nightmare about his son gave rise to the plot of the horror story. And a very good one it is.

Not a ghost, but a ghostly garment for sure. Photo by the author.

A couple of years back, my husband Andrew and I visited the abandoned zoo trail in Cisco, Texas. I’ve got a separate post about that visit – you can find it on the Road Trip tab and read about it if you’d like. Strolling through that place I felt it would make a great setting. I filed away the memories and images to recall at some later date. They came to life in the Spring 2025 Writing Battle writing contest. I received the prompts “Small Town Secrets”, “Zoo”, and “Rich Aunt.” The minute I saw “Zoo” I knew where to set my story. Once I placed the characters in that abandoned zoo I found the secret that they were keeping.

There’s a story waiting inside this room. Photo by the author.

Getting words on the page is the hardest step for me, but the contest had a deadline so that gave me motivation. I ran my first draft through the ProWritingAid app to polish the grammar and eliminate most of the passive voice. After one last edit, I finished the story and submitted it to the contest. It didn’t win any prizes. However, I received some useful feedback from the other contestants. The trick to a good story is that it’s not the writing but the rewriting that makes it stand out. After editing the draft that I had submitted to the contest, I took my pages to my writing group and got their feedback. Then, I submitted the story to the Flash Fiction Magazine’s contest. It didn’t win there either, but one of the editors emailed me afterwards and offered to publish it in the magazine. With some edits, of course. I said yes and off we went on the last round of revisions.

When we encounter haunted objects, there’s story waiting. Photo by the author.

My story, All We Have Abandoned, went through at least six rounds of editing before finally being published. Here is a list of some things that were changed through that process.

The title went from Forsaken but not Forgotten to the current one – All We Have Abandoned. I think the second title brings out the emotions felt in my trip to the old zoo and also fits the plot of the fiction piece better than the first title.
Some of the early readers mentioned that they couldn’t picture the point of view character. I realized that I hadn’t mentioned a gender or even a name for this character until past the halfway point in the story. Way too late – if you don’t introduce the main character early, readers will form their own idea of who that person should be. This can be jarring if they get the wrong picture of them and have to adjust later. I moved the narrator’s name up to the first word in the first sentence and added the phrase “no longer a little boy” as a second reminder of his gender.
I got rid of most of the “rich aunt” details that I had to include in the contest story but kept a couple of things about her character. She wears rhinestone-studded sunglasses and carries a cane with a silver handle. Those details I think will allow the reader to imagine her and also no a little bit about her personality.
My original draft included a full paragraph of back story about the zoo history. Fascinating stuff to me, the author, but not so interesting to readers who just wanted to get into the story. Cutting those lines allowed me room to add a scene where the main character encounters someone in the past.
Speaking of the past, I had a problem with tenses. There’s a flashback while the characters stroll through the zoo, but I wrote almost everything in present tense. Some of my early readers were confused about the timeline until I fixed that problem.
I made a small change to the ending, substituting one word for two in the last sentence. In general, I think it is always a good idea to cut words and this one change gave the story more impact and an ending that will stay with the reader.

Now, if you’d like to read the final, published story, here’s the link to the post on the Flash Fiction Magazine page: All We Have Abandoned

As always, thank you for reading!

“In the end, we’ll all become stories.” Margaret Atwood

The neon sign on my office wall is a gift from a friend and a subtle reminder that my “to be read” pile is waiting patiently. They don’t really have a choice, unless those books suddenly become sentient. But that’s a whole other story. For now, I’m trying to settle in with a novel instead of doom scrolling through social media. One practice will improve my writing skills, while the other just results in a rise in my blood pressure.

Once I started studying the craft of writing and actually trying to turn out stories of my own, I noticed that my approach to reading shifted. I do read for enjoyment, but it’s hard to turn off that inner editor. Here’s a few of the books I’ve read so far this month and a bit of a review for each, along with what I learned about writing along the way.

In November I read this novel written by my friend, Heather J. Bennett. She has a way of bringing her characters to life and giving the reader an intimate look at their challenges. Her books capture the 1970s – an era I grew up in – so well that I always feel like I’m settling in with an friend to reminisce about those times. The plots of her novels involve characters in the music industry, most often California rock and roll. Heather brings an authenticity to that setting that brings the reader right along with the characters. Writing wise, it’s good to read and learn from someone with such a good grasp of character development, plot, and setting detail. Plus her books are always a good story!

I bought this book at Dollar Tree and it was a $1.25 well spent. The first sentence hooked me in – “I was seventeen years old when I saw my first dead body.” From the title and that sentence, I was expecting something a bit darker from this novel, but I wasn’t disappointed with the story. The main characters are teenagers, so I suppose this would qualify as a “YA” book. There’s a disappearance and dual timelines that eventually converge in an unexpected but satisfying way. I like how the author, John Corey Whaley, tied everything together at the end. There’s a subplot with the town’s reaction to a possible sighting of an extinct woodpecker, and this explains the bird on the cover and also the double meaning of the title. I love it when the writer has a clear picture of how the plot will resolve and doesn’t resort to throwing everything at the conflict in hopes that something will stick. (Riley Sager, stop tossing tropes in the final chapter.)

I’ll confess to an occasional binge of romance. I picked up this one based on the cover alone. Plus the author has a whole series set in this town. I loved the Virgin River series, so I thought I’d like these. Going in, I knew there were spicy scenes but I’m an adult, right? How bad could it be? Pretty bad it turns out. I’m not going to smut shame anyone, but if you picked up these books for the sexy parts, be aware the first get together doesn’t happen until about 200 pages in. And then, Kira and Bennett take up almost four pages with dialogue. Enough that I was urging them on to just finish things for heaven’s sake. As for plot, the main character, Kira, buys a Christmas tree farm and meets handsome Bennett. That’s about all that happens, over and over, until they finally hook up during a snowstorm. What I learned from this book – I don’t mind a spicy scene, but I’ve got to care enough about the characters to want them to get busy. I also realized I’ll never write a sex scene. Just coming up with euphemisms for body parts gives me a headache. Unless those parts are being loped off by the grim reaper/slasher who’s been stalking the characters.

The last book is also my favorite of the month and possibly the entire year. I binged the first few chapters, staying up later than usual with no regrets. This book is a master class on pacing, conflict, hooks, and characterization. The unlikely plot – aliens have destroyed the Earth and the survivors must compete in an intergalactic game show that takes place in a dungeon – makes perfect sense once you get into the story. There’s magic, violence, fantasy, and a talking cat. The cat, Princess Donut the Queen Anne Chonk, is one of my favorite all time characters. By the end of the first chapter, I was rooting for her and Carl and hoping they didn’t get killed by the drug-dealing llamas or exploding goblins. Writing lesson – once the reader loves the main characters they’ll follow them through the story. Another lesson – give a satisfying ending with each conflict but also introduce a new conflict as a result of that ending. I LOVE these books – I bought the rest of the series (what has been published so far, that is) before I made it halfway through the first book. I’ll be reading the second book over the Christmas holiday next week, which will be much better for my blood pressure than doom scrolling Facebook.

New Year New Goals

December 31, 2021 ~ mstturpin ~ 6 Comments

Unlike my friend here, I don’t have an excuse for not writing more.

The past year has been a series of “if only” – If only I didn’t have to work full time, if only I had more time, if only I had a dedicated writing space, and on and on and on.

It’s the end of the year and I’m still working a full time job. We have bills to pay, just like most people I know. Whenever I begin to feel sorry for myself and wish for more time, I remember reading about Ray Bradbury toiling away each night, writing short stories after he worked to support his family. He wrote Fahrenheit 451 on a rented typewriter, in the basement of the UCLA library. I have a laptop I could take anywhere to write – including my office in the house we bought this year.

I’m grateful to the group of writing friends I’ve made. I wouldn’t have completed the works I have done this year if it hadn’t been for their support and encouragement.

With 2022 upon us, I’m wishing for a more productive year for everyone. In the meantime, here’s a link below to an older short story of mine that I think turned out well.

Old Long Since

Happy New Year!