I complained at my prompt. I swore a little. But once I got over my snit, I came up with an idea and ran with it.
Standing on the shoreline that separates life from death, Amy’s vision guides her to make a choice.
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On the day of her disappearance, all they found of Janie was her favorite necklace. Five hundred twenty-eight days later, Karen’s life still revolves around a singular purpose — finding her daughter.
Fiction written from the underbelly of a writer’s deepest fears tends to be an agonizing process. And that’s exactly what I did.
None felt the hammer of Stalin’s dictatorial fist as firmly as I, Svetlana, his only daughter.
Up next: Round 2 of the NYCMidnight Short Screenplay competition.