Written In Gold – A Micro Story

Written in Gold - pinterest cover

We’d like to thank Susi J Smith of Scotland for her micro story ‘Written in Gold’, based on true events. A relatable tale about the value of motherhood.

Susi J Smith is a frustrated writer, and mother of one. She lives in Scotland and longs for a writing room of her own. Susi has previously been published in 101Words.org, Zeroflash, and McStorrytellers. For more information, check out her website:https://mairi187.wixsite.com/susi-j-smith or Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/SusiJSmith/

Susi is also a member of a local writing group; West Lothian Writers.

If you’d like to submit a story to be considered for publishing, please visit our submissions page.

This page contains affiliate links which may earn me a small commission (at no extra cost to you) if you click through and make a purchase. Affiliate links are how I keep this blog running, thanks. 


Brevity – A Flash Fiction Handbook by David Galef


A blank page sits ready and waiting on my laptop while I run back and forth from the kitchen, answering your demands for ‘Peter butter’, ‘Poco cops’, and ‘I-beana’; anything for five minutes peace. But no. The cereal makes you thirsty, your drink stains the rug, and don’t even ask me where you’ve managed to hide the peanut butter. Thank goodness your father isn’t allergic to nuts. Oh wait, he is!

I can dust, do the washing, load the dishwasher, weed the garden, but I can’t sit. I’m not allowed to sit. As soon as my bum hits that couch you snatch my pen and run away laughing. You scribble over my pristine, cherished, and favourite notebooks. You need your ‘packpack’ put on your ‘backback’ then and there because you’re going to the shops for more ‘weeties’.

You absorb my time and creativity and demand it as your own. I take you to soft play; help you find friends, but you’re back every two minutes asking why I’m not ankle-deep in the ball pit like that other mum. Does she have a book to write? Or deadlines that pass without a word hitting the page?

On the calendar, I mark off the days until you start school, the days until I can become more than just ‘Mummy’, ‘the wife of that guy whose clothes are never ironed’, and ‘that part-time employee with the uncombed hair’.

Then, out of nowhere, you give me a card. Handmade. Your name scribbled inside in yellow felt tip. It’s got two extra ‘a’s and a ‘2’ I don’t remember giving it, but it’s there, clear to a mother’s eye. The first proper word you’ve written. And I realize, it’s better than anything I will ever write. The best thing I could ever create sits staring at me from the rug, your eyes the colour of mine, your energy boundless, and all you want is my time, my love, and my whole being.

It’s worth every second I have just to see you grow.



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