Jacki Donnellan is the winner of MB1.24. Follow her on Twitter and check out her blog and Facebook page. If you enjoyed Jacki’s MB1.24–winning story, you’ll want to read her stories, Napkins, Teacups, Ribbon and Getting Myrna to Play the Piano. You can find some of Jacki’s other writing on her Amazon page.
I am from England, but for the last 13 years I have lived amongst tulips and windmills in the Netherlands, with my husband and two lovely children (who are growing up much too fast for my liking.)
I love reading and writing flash and am lucky enough to have several contest wins and publications under my writerly belt. I also love being part of the wonderful online flash-fiction community, who constantly prove that it is possible to use social media for nothing but creative and supportive ends.
100 words ain’t many. How do you fit a story into so few words? I try to use words in such a way that they have several more words hidden underneath them (or, to put it more simply – to write between the lines!) I don’t always manage to do this but I always enjoy trying.
Why do you like flash fiction? I like writing- and reading- between the lines! And the world of flash fiction is so fresh and vibrant; constantly moving.
Been writing long? Couple of years.
You write anything else? Slightly longer short stories. And I have a half-written novella which has been half-finished for well over a year now…
Any advice for other flash writers? Keep going, keep writing, join in, connect, take part!
Any interesting writerly projects in the pipeline? I have a short story due to be published some time this year, and I’m currently working on something for Volume 2 of the Flashdogs Anthology, which I am thrilled to be a part of.
I just finished reading a book. Can you recommend another? I am woefully under-read, so it’s usually me on the lookout for recommendations! However I recently read The Best British Short Stories 2013 published by Salt, which contains some really fantastic short fiction.
My Life in Sunlight
Pride bathes my life in sunlight; my memories reprinted in white.
I joined you beneath the honeysuckle bower, white freesias cascading from my hands.
I didn’t wait and wait in a draughty corridor, tears draggling my wilting bouquet.
I kept the dress- for our daughter, one day! A wardrobe brimming with rustling white crepe.
I didn’t sell the dress to pay rent on the bedsit in which I gave birth, alone.
I took care that those diamonds on my wedding band didn’t scratch against my baby’s face, or my husband’s hand!
I didn’t wear a brass curtain ring to ward off pre-judgement; to fend off the cold sting of prejudice.
It struck me that there was a bright and sunny version of the truth in one photo, and a tainted, darker version in the other. It made me think about how pride might cause someone to try and whitewash their past, and why.