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{\info
{\title FlashFiction}
{\author Jovan Trujillo}
{\company Mingled Life Publications}
{\subject Science Fiction}
{\keywords Science Fiction Flash Fiction}
{\doccomm My attempt at writing flash fiction for my science fiction blog.}
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\f0\fs20 There is something wonderful about using an old computer to 
write short stories. Flash fiction seems like something doable with the 
small amounts of free time that I may have. So here we go:\par
\par
It was a cold morning. The bedroom was just beginning to light up with 
the sunlight peeking through the curtains. I didn't want to wake up. I 
still felt the heavy hand of fatigue from another all nighter. Then 
suddenly the reminder of my unemployment seeped into my brain and 
pushed me off the lumpy mattress. \par
\par
I get up, wash myself, brush my teeth, and change my clothes. I eat a 
bowl of cheerios with some honey and begin to review my thoughts from 
yesterday. In the office the old computer I found in the dumpster is 
waiting for me. It's an old 900 MHz Duron with 140 MB of RAM. I managed 
to get a 20 GB hard disk for it from the University surplus warehouse 
for $20 bucks. The thought of making this pile of junk do something 
useful was my biggest thrill every day. \par
\par
With Darn Small Linux and the Ted editor I began my work every day 
writing sci-fi flash fiction for an online website. The long hours in 
front of the machine were enjoyable. I would get lost every day in the 
world I created. Every real life distraction broke me out of my 
euphoria. Yes euphoria. The peace and quiet of my home, the hum of my 
machine, the sweet taste of the cinnamon roll I just heated in the 
microwave. This was paradise for me, maybe not for somebody else, but 
it was for me. \par
\par
The days without inspiration were pretty bad though. That's when the 
darkness would creep in. Those dark thoughts of depair, of not wanting 
to continue for fear that I was wasting my time. I don't know how I 
managed to break out of those debilitating moments of writer's block 
alone. Maybe there was someone out there helping me out. Preventing my 
mind from straying to far from the goal. What was my goal anyways? 
Right now it seemed like I was just writing to survive, to make enough 
for another pack of cinnamon rolls. \par
\par
Einstein was quoted as saying that imagination is more important than 
knowledge. The work I did was important for those whose imagination has 
been stifled by the harsh demands of reality. So what am I doing here 
as I write about the glorious lives of science fiction writers when I 
myself am doing the same? Some times the dreamers need some coaxing to 
dream a bigger dream. Maybe that's why instead of writing a story I'm 
writing about the story teller. Could it be possible that such 
meta-introspection also has value? Could also help someone as poor and 
dumb as myself? \par
\par
Everyone has a story to share. Everyone should be writing it down. 
Whatever it is, no matter how poor you think the quality of it is. You 
should write it down. There is a sense of release, a sense of growth, a 
sense of accomplishment, a sense of mental exercise that comes from 
writing. I tend to love writing about writing, programming about 
programming, and loving for the sake of love. \par
\par
\par
\par
\par
}