The journalist studied the elderly woman’s writing awards gathered during her long career. She pointed to an enormous trophy. “Is your Trump Booker your favourite prize?”
“No,” the writer replied. “It won for size, not quality – ‘Display Cabinets’ had 9000 pages.” She pointed to a smaller certificate. “The Lincoln Prize is better, won for ‘Cat’Astrophe’.”
The journalist smiled, remembering the groundbreaking novel about grammar-warrior, earth-invading cats.
“But that’s my favourite,” the writer said, indicating a small, framed rectangle of silver. “My LinkedIn Platinum Post. That started Friday Flash Fiction. It went viral and gave the most pleasure, don’t you think?”
“No,” the writer replied. “It won for size, not quality – ‘Display Cabinets’ had 9000 pages.” She pointed to a smaller certificate. “The Lincoln Prize is better, won for ‘Cat’Astrophe’.”
The journalist smiled, remembering the groundbreaking novel about grammar-warrior, earth-invading cats.
“But that’s my favourite,” the writer said, indicating a small, framed rectangle of silver. “My LinkedIn Platinum Post. That started Friday Flash Fiction. It went viral and gave the most pleasure, don’t you think?”
