Trends

One problem with getting published is trends. What is popular? What are readers craving? There’s a lot of discussion if writers should follow trends or not. I can’t write something based off a trend. So if unicorns riding Segways becomes a must in stories, you won’t see me writing it.

It does makes sense why good stories get rejected. Maybe the topic was all the rage two years ago, but now the market is saturated, and everyone else is sick of it. It’s time to move on to something else.

I’ve found a good way to identify trends is reading Literary Agents requests when submitting books. This may not always be the case, but I wonder if it’s because they’re going off what readers want or what will become popular. There’s no way to predict what will be a best seller, but one can try to be proactive in that aspect.

Anyone else have input on this? What are your thoughts?

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No Service

This is a dark, flash fiction piece. 

No Service

Every week I dread it, the drive to pick up my son from his mother’s house. My son isn’t the one I despise. It’s my bitch of an ex and her new husband. They love to shove their new life and wealth in my face. Why else would they live in a mansion in the middle of damn nowhere?

The drive consists of winding roads with no streetlights for miles. Not to mention it’s two hours from where I live.

Stupid bitch.

She did this on purpose.

My hands turn to crank the radio but there’s nothing, just static. Not even one damn channel to listen to. At this point I’d listen to classical, it’d be better than the silence.

Night has already settled in, casting gloominess to my mood. I reach for the bag of peanuts and shove a handful in my mouth.

I round a corner, going faster than I should when something catches my eyes. Someone is lying in the middle of the road.

I swerve to avoid crushing them but the wheel slips from my grasp. The car is reeling out of control as I grip it tight and put it back center.

My feet slam on the brakes as the car slides to a stop. The fresh rain made the road slick and I’m lucky I didn’t drive into a ditch.

My breath is ragged as I calm myself down, thinking of how close I came to losing it. I breathe in and out, just like therapy.

I crane my neck backward, the body still in the middle of the road. Not moving.

“Shit,” I mutter.

I reach for my cell phone to call for help. I dial 911, but get the No Service signal.

“Of course,” I toss the phone in the middle console and step out of the car.

I approach slowly, creeping like a panther. “Hello? Hey Buddy!” I call out.

Nothing.

Silence.

Zilch.

The man’s face is crooked the other way. I kneel down to get a better glance and roll him towards me.

Shit.

It’s him. Her new husband.

Blood pools on the concrete.

He’s in a jogging outfit; someone hit him and took off. Not that I blame the culprit because he’s such an asshole.

“Shit.” I say again. My hands rub the back of my hand till it hurts.

His chest rises and falls, he’s alive. What should I do? There’s no way to call for help. If I move him I could do more damage, but I have to take him with me. It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?

I mean, I couldn’t just leave him out here, in the middle of the road, dying.

Or could I?

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