One of the things I failed to notice when I started writing stories on Instagram is the annoying little feature the platform launched to kill Snapchat called…wait for it…Instagram Stories. the idea behind that feature is that users — we, really — will post pictures and videos throughout the day that, when viewed sequentially, will tell the story of our day.

Here’s the problem. It’s terrible. Most folks I’ve found who use the feature post video, and not just one video but four or five or six. So, in order to see their story I have to download and watch a bunch of short videos. If you’re unfortunate enough to follow a professional marketer like Gary Vaynerchuk* or someone in the entertainment field, you’ll get twenty staff-produced pictures and videos a day that do nothing but promote whatever that particular day’s “hustle” happens to be.


Bleah. No. No thank you.

I was guilty of posting¬†Story fripperies, too. I don’t anymore because, well, what do you care? If you follow me on Instagram, you can see right there in my main feed what I thought was cool enough, lovely enough, touching enough, important enough to share. You really don’t want a running commentary on my day; you’re far too busy living your own. And, trust me friends, the “tick tock” of my day is so immensely boring that it would bring you no joy at all. Already I give you too many selfies, even if you throw out my silly little Tuesday Night Laundromat Picture (soon to be monetized by whatever laundromat chain wants to throw me a little paying green to brandish their logo at you, bwahaha!).

I can not imagine that you want to sit there and wait for my fourteen brilliant IG Story videos to chew up some of your precious cellular data just so you can watch an ongoing series of me slam-dancing to the greatest hits of Styx**.

On the other hand, I do think you’ll like something a little different out of your Instagram — an interesting picture accompanied by an entertaining, creepy-sweet story that you might want to share with someone you love because you know they’d love it, too. In this, I think I have you covered. Granted, I don’t have as many of these real Instagram stories as I’d like, but I’ll get more to you. Perhaps they’ll come in a form you might find more interesting. And audible. Hmmmmmm!



“They’re a half-mile out, Sarge.” . The soldier’s voice almost broke on the last word. Catherine put her hand on his shoulder. “Easy, Jonesy. We expected this, right?” He looked up from his screens and smiled up at her nervously. She didn’t see, because she was watching the treeline, where the trap was set. Her fingers absently stroked the detonator clipped to her vest. . “Five hundred yards!” . From their position on the hill she could see signs of their approach. Trees fell or flew feet above the canopy as the invaders’ tentacles ripped them from the group and tossed them out of the way. She could hear the muffled sound of cracking and splintering. They were coming fast. Maybe too fast for the tra– . “Now! Now! Now!” . She thumbed the detonator and the treeline erupted in flame. The concussion wave rolled up and over them and the thunderclap of the explosions nearly deafened them. They had used a lot of explosives, just to be sure they got the job done. . “Yeah, Sarge! Yeah!” . She turned to smile at Jonesy, but caught a glimpse of movement in her peripheral vision. Her heart sank. From the smoke, two tentacles reached out, clawed the ground, and pulled one of the mighty alien war machines forward. Another tentacle pointed straight at them and the booming bass “hunting note” sounded from deep inside. . Jonesy screamed and dove for the EMP launcher. He shouldered it, pointed it at the war machine as it slithered up the slope toward them. She said a two word prayer under her breath and ducked as he squeezed the trigger. . #flashfiction #instafiction #amwriting #latergram #storytime

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*Whom I think is a brilliant guy and is one of only two or three marketing people whose opinion is worth a plugged nickel nowadays, but come on, man!

**Or maybe you do. The point stands that I can’t imagine it. Sicko.