In a Flash:  Writing or Reading in Snippets Do Have Healthful Benefits.

In our hurried and harried lives, it can be difficult to juggle all the demands thrust upon us. We’re pulled in so many directions, we often can’t distinguish up from down. Our schedules are full. Our calendars are overbooked. Our time is not our own.

At the end of the day, our energy is zapped. Does any oomph remain to find time to write, let alone enjoy a good book to read? And, if so, how can we do it without succumbing to guilt? After all, there are an infinite number of matters that need our attention. We should be devoting any extra minutes to those things. Right?

Wrong!

Ditch the Guilt.

Don’t chastise yourself for taking the time to do something just for you. Even if only for a few moments. And don’t let anyone else serve you a heaping Dish of Disdain. Some might consider reading or writing a waste of precious time. But truth be told, there are healthful benefits to both. I’m not a doctor, but I am a firm believer in the body-mind connection.

For me, both reading and writing have obvious positive effects on my physical and mental wellbeing. I notice a reduction in stress. My brain seems more engaged. My ability to focus is enhanced. I maintain a higher level of productivity. My heart rate and blood pressure remain stable (unless I’m reading or writing something exciting or scary). Best of all, creativity is ignited.

Self-Care is Essential.

Just as food and water are indispensable to sustain us, so too are other elements to keep us healthy. Among them are fundamentals such as proper nutrition, exercise, adequate sleep, and mindfulness tools like meditation.

If you can’t commit to extended periods of time, why not add reading and writing Flash Fiction to the mix? It’s quick and easy, and it doesn’t come packed with time constraints. It’s a simple remedy and a great prescription to recharge our wellness practices.

Here’s an Example. Take it for a Spin.

Sometimes, when darkness falls and claps a heavy hand upon us, a voice whispers through the night in that old cemetery. It echoes off of trees and carries on the wind. They say ’tis the call of such a fool who lost his love, and roams o’er gravestones, searching yet in vain. John Caufman was his name. He lived but many a year ago, and his restless spirit lingers still and never sleeps.

Now, I’m not one to tell tall tales. But I, myself, have seen him. I swear an oath ’tis true. One bleak and stormy night was I upon the back of my fine steed, riding straightaway towards home from dear Aunt Jenny’s farm, when such a roar of thunder spooked the beast. He reared and cast me off and I did land into a muddy rut, deep and dank. To my knees in muck was I and couldn’t grasp his reins.

A flash of lightning sent him off at a fair gallop, heading for his barn, a place of safety from the storm. He kicked up such clods of mud in his wake it covered me from head to toe. I finally stood and wiped my hands on all too wet and mud-laden breeches.

As black as coal was that eve, and I could scarce see a thing but for the lightning strikes. At last I spied a wavering light that twinkled in the distance. A kind soul, I thought, had come to aid me in my plight. So slowly I did step in the direction from whence it shone. I called a greeting, but my cries were lost amidst the clatter of driving rain and thunder. Many a time I fell to the ground and cursed that blasted storm.

But still that light did shine, and with it as my guide, at last I found myself before the mausoleum. Atop a fence post, a lantern freely swung from side to side. Scarce could I imagine who placed it there, for no one was in sight. I grabbed that lamp and went inside to seek shelter from the torrent.

And there was I met with moans and cries the likes of which I’ve never heard. A man of historic vintage stood, bleating, lamenting, like a lost sheep. “You found my lamp,” said he to me, and smiled a toothless grin.

And when I offered it up, he stretched his hand to receive it. But that lantern did slip right through his grasp. I knew at once ’twas he, the lost soul, John Caufman. So scared was I my knees did quake until I found my feet would carry me away.

“Bring back my lantern,” I heard him call. “For n’er without it shall I find my love in the shadows of the night.”

But my faithful legs did carry me quickly away, with lamp in hand, until I found myself upon my own threshold. Not since that night have I wandered near that cemetery. Nor do I think I ever shall, not even on my dying day, lest that wandering spirit haunt me for eternity—or ’til I do return his lamp.

Start Your Own Cache of Flash.

Keep it on hand for whenever you need a chuckle, a somber moment, or a spark of creativity.

Happy Writing! Happy Reading!