Writing Flash Fiction by the Seat of the Pants

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“All right, Mr. Hogan.  I guess what we’re talking about is inspiration.  The muse.  That first burst of creativity that takes possession of a writer’s very soul.”

“Yes, because…”

“That first inspiration, that first burst of energy burns white hot and a white hot flame cannot last.”

“No.  The writer…”

“For good or evil, once the words start flowing it would be a sin to break this bond between the writer and the gods.”

“Well put.  The first draft…”

“The muse waits for no man, no woman and no child.  The words, the ideas must be typed or written down for they come not just from the writer but from the writer’s soul which in the moment of creativity communes with the souls of all those who have gone before and with those yet to be born.  In that moment of, dare I say the word, passion, yes passion, written language transports not only the creator but also the witness of the creation–the reader.  For without the reader the creation of the writer is for naught.”

Silence.

“Mr. Hogan?”

“Now I see why you choose to name yourself, Hallelujah.”