Wasn’t it EXCITING! Did you have as much fun as I did?

Well Claire LeGrand is probably in a nervous collapse now, but she did a great job hosting the first stop of the first ever 5MinuteFiction Blog Tour. Thanks Claire!

And, to make the stop even more special, we had, not one, but TWO winners. I love that.

Nicole Wolverton!

AND Corinne O’Flynn!

Below are the entries from our winners. Congrats ladies.

And don’t forget to be there for the rest of the tour:

March 15: Monica Bustamante Wagner, @Monica_BW

March 22: Richard Wood, @rbwood

March 29: JM Frey, @scifrey

April 5: Sam Adamson, @FutureNostalgic


Nicole, @nicolewolverton

The morning of April 15, Violet Beauragard — the daughter of parents with a questionable sense of humor — woke up and realized she couldn’t taste anything. Not the thick grossness of her morning breath, not the sour flavor of the wine she’d consumed in excess the night before.

It felt odd. And sort of annoying. As though someone stood over her bed and flicked her in the forehead repeatedly. She considered panicking, but it didn’t seem like the time. Instead, she tried to remember what she had done to cause such a weird malady.

Perhaps it had been the date itself. Dating Max “The Chin” Fowler had not been her choice; instead, her best friend had hooked them up. Lori had failed to mention his huge underbite, though. She’d thought perhaps the nickname referred to a chiseled jaw or perhaps some sexy stubble. Instead, he’d looked like a cross between an inbred yokel and a often-kicked puppy.

With a sigh, she kicked the blankets off and slithered out of bed. She looked down when she stubbed her toe, only to discover a grass hula skirt and an ugly flowered shirt in place of her regular pajamas. She groaned, sure that if the lack of taste and her current attire were any indication, she had more than enough reason to begin panicking.

Right now.


Corinne O’Flynn, @CorinneOFlynn

The day started off all wrong.

I woke up late and threw some cereal into the bowls for the little ones. An action which was met by howls of displeasure from the four children perched around the table. Yes, it is all my fault we’re out of milk. Again. Doesn’t every kid love to eat dry cereal?

After fights with socks and shoes we’re in the garage, the kids are buckling up while I search for my keys. Not again.

In the house, tossing papers off the desk, wishing I had a clapper.

The was becoming the worst morning ever.

I had only thirty minutes to get the kids to the bus stop and then I had an interview for the job of my dreams. Six months of phone calls and meetings with some of my future colleagues, today was the day. An interview with the CEO.

There! Keys in hand, I race to the garage, the kids are screaming at each other about whose transformer action figure is in pieces on the floor among the hardened french fries and papers and other detritus of our life in a minivan.

“Guys, please stop shouting!” I roar over the din.

I back out of the garage and toss the children out at the corner. I check my makeup in the rear view during stoplight pauses and get to the interview with five minutes to spare. And there was even a front row parking space.

“Rock star parking!” I squeal as I grab my bag and jump out of the car.

My feet touch wet pavement. I look down, a coil of dread tightening in my belly.

I’m barefoot.