I just wrote a flash fiction about my brief encounter with the really cute Mamang Pulis. I have been dreaming of writing something different. A less dramatic and a a little funny piece that I can read over and over and still laugh about from time to time. I guess I succeeded and I hope that this will not be the last.
No one reads my works. Primarily because I don't tell the world much that I still am trying to write. Except for the few pieces which makes their way to my FB notes, no one has laid eyes on (and I don't think they are even interested in) my flash fiction at wordpress. It's a bit depressing but I guess if they are really good, it will make its way to the mainstream.
The thing is, I am not educated to be a writer. I don't even consider myself creative much less gifted in this field. I just want to tell stories. Real, made-up, semi-real - stories that reflect the deepest desires of my heart - I want to tell all of them. It's just that I can't seem to find an audience. I don't even have the courage to show it to the people closest to me.
So I guess I'll just leave them here in the cyberworld. Hopefully, one day, a poor lost soul will be able to read them and perhaps learn something from them or just smile after reading them. I'll continue writing because this is one thing that I will always love.
