Hi all – a new experience learning to negotiate the blogosphere. Below is a 300 word flash fiction – a genre I was introduced to being part of an online writing group. Enjoy.
He might look like a smarmy prat, but I want to grind it like Grisham. I really do.
The way his words dance on the page in the latest “New York Times best seller” though, I suspect that stringing them together is a gift Grisham has. Mine is the grind.
It’s a fair distance from New York to the Turangi Times office of editor and writer of obituaries, where I spend more of my waking hours than I care to think about.
As well as me, there’s Maggie, receptionist extraordinaire; and there’s Gillian and Steve, good keen journalists both. And Jack. He’s another smarmy prat, and a damn good news photographer, who fast tracks his career with even more passion than Gillian does hers.
Coffee break over, I noticed Jack stuffing his gear into the boot of the Time’s aging Toyota. Shabby, reliable, mostly with a full tank. Tyres squealed as he turned out of the car park and headed toward the National Park.
When I found that Ngaruahoe was signaling its intention to erupt, I sighed. Yes, Jack deserved his glory, deserved his success, just like Grisham, but I wonder if there isn’t a special divinity ordering the affairs of the Jacks of this world.
I sent Gillian off in my Falcon, to find Jack, and to find out what she could about the mountain.
If anyone could get the story and the pics, it was these two. The next Media Awards for best scoop from a provincial paper would be theirs, and not for the first time.
Gillian’s story was exceptional, I didn’t expect less. For years to come though, Jack will regret not checking that he had put a film in the camera.
© Dianne Cullen Smith 2009