My grandma was my muse for Eat the Rich. One memorable visit left one hell of an impression on my malleable psyche. No, she’s not homicidal, at least as far as I know, however her talents in the kitchen are impressive. There are always biscuits and you can be sure that there is enough jam to slather all of the toast in Australia.
What do you think of this example of short fiction? Love it? Hate it? Want to see more? Let me know.