How A Flash Fiction Competition Saved Me From The Depths Of Writer's Block
At the start of 2024, I set myself the challenge to do one writing competition a month. I managed to smash out 12 competitions by roughly the middle of the year but kept going.
I tried a few; Writing Peers, Writing Battle, NYC Midnight Challenge, Not Quite Write. I personally loved Writing Peers and Writing Battle (the former has now stopped holding competitions) as they use a peer review Swiss model where all writers are the judges for other genres, comparing two pieces at a time, providing feedback, and voting for a winner. Lots of feedback, lots of chances to see how people interpreted the prompts, and lots of fun.
For those that don’t know much about flash fiction competitions, you will be given a few prompts, a word limit, and a few days at most to come up with a story that’s inspired by all of your prompts. The winner gets money.
Middle of the year, I was getting a bit of writer’s block with my novel, Ogres, Elves & Insufferable Dad Jokes. It was one of those infamous middle chapters where I was trying to find the perfect way to glue the two halves together as it changes direction at that point in the book for what the goal is for the characters. Nothing I could do broke the block.
Meanwhile, I’d signed up for yet another Writing Battle. I had a weekend to come up with a 500 word story using the prompts: Medical Drama, Lakeside Cabin, and Loyal Sidekick. I write comedic fantasy… those prompts were a nightmare for me.
With a few hours to go until deadline, I had this idea. It was random but it made me chuckle, and was inspired by the city my novel characters were currently in at the point of my writer’s block.
A few hours later, I had this fun, short story submitted. It did better than all other stories I’ve ever submitted. More than that, I’d worked out a fun way to join my novel up and pivot goals, and thus Hungaar found himself within the world of Harmonia and the city of Ignate in a more full-time basis, failing happily to stitch up his neighbours after each fight.
Enjoy!
Do Warrior Arms Go In the Recycling Bin Or Regular?
“Hungaar, is there somewhere you want me to store the spare legs or just leave them on your desk?” Frido asked. He had an entire leg resting in his arms which Hungaar was sure belonged to his old music teacher. Hungaar returned to the main room of the cabin and glanced over the line of wounded lying across the floor.
It had been such a lovely morning. Frankie hadn’t ordered any raids for days, so his medical expertise was not required, leaving him with a book and a cup of tea out on the verandah. A giant lake flowed from the edge of Ignate and into Dra’Noo Canyon, which Hungaar had prime real estate on. As the clan medic, he argued the view was better for his practice. It wasn’t. But that sunrise was to die for.
Unfortunately, Frankie had sent dozens of berserkers into Dra’Noo Canyon that morning to feast on dragons, ready for war. It didn’t go too well. Hungaar had almost finished chapter seven when a dragon dropped Jupun into the lake in front of him without the upper half of his body.
“Leana’s on the main table,” Frido explained, returning to the main room. “Would you like me to stitch her up?”
“What happened to her?”
“Left hand bitten off and right shin ripped clean. She doesn’t have the hand. Do you want me to cauterise the wrist? I’ve been practicing. I swear I won’t do it again.”
“It’s not me you have to convince. Did you tell Leana you burnt off poor Susie’s tit last week?”
“Leana’s unconscious. I can’t tell her.”
“Are you sure she’s not dead?”
“Oh. Good question. I don’t know. I’ll check.”
Hungaar headed into the next room. Driig and Swanar were on opposite tables. They’d both had their right arm ripped off and both looked very similar. Worse, both arms were lying together in the middle.
“You’re going to have to give me a hand in working this one out, boys.”
Hungaar had a chuckle to himself but he was alone in his amusement. He picked up one of the arms and tried it next to Driig. It looked pretty good. He then tried it next to Swanar. It was harder than he thought.
“You know, my job would be a lot easier if the dragons just ate your limbs rather than playing with their food. Isn’t that right, Driig? Driig?”
Driig did not answer. Driig was dead.
Frido came into the room. He had the welding torch in hand and a smile on his face that made Hungaar concerned.
“I did it! Wound’s closed and she still has both tits. Do you want me to sort these two out?”
Hungaar nodded, then returned to his book on the verandah. His tea was cold but would suffice. For someone who didn’t actually work there, Frido was doing a wonderful job, fiery mishaps aside. Hungaar realised it was time. Frido needed his own seat on the verandah. Right after chapter eight.
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