Erin Lunde

Stories About Telling Stories

Eleventh Day

I’m mad today. My kids need to go to school. My kids’ teachers need to feel valued. My 50 words: I hear a plane fly overhead. I want to get on it. We’ve been school-free for eleven days. Alice says she likes weekends but she likes school more. I feel like an insect in a […]

Continue Reading

Tenth Day

For a few minutes, I thought it was over. Thomas texts a Tweet. “MPS is happy to announce…” it reads. I can’t finish it because I’m driving. If the district is happy about something, it’s got to be a deal. It’s over, I think. Will we get to go back tomorrow? Or Monday? No. I […]

Continue Reading

Ninth Day

I don’t care that it’s nice out. This is hard. Another account of the day in 50 words. I think of kids with special needs, needs beyond supervision. I think of teachers having to work two jobs. I think of how easy it is for us to go for a walk and I know it’s […]

Continue Reading

Eighth Day

Even though we have All Day, we wait until Normal Time to practice. Then I look up and see it’s 8:15 PM and no one is in jams. Then I realize time doesn’t matter. I remember distance learning kicking us into outer space where we spun – still alive, somehow – untethered.

Continue Reading

Seventh Day

I am confident we won’t have school the rest of the week. Here are 50 words about the day. This one is “No Change.” The district e-mails. The subject line is, “Negotiations continue; classes canceled Tuesday,” leading me to believe they think we could be back on Wednesday. Which is when I read the e-mail […]

Continue Reading

Sixth Day

This one is “Snowmelt.” Snowmelt flowed down the path at the nature center we visited. What a jerk, moving so freely like that, directly under my feet. I’m tensing about the week to come. Bedtimes never matter when we switch to Daylight Saving Time or the Sunday before the second week of a strike.

Continue Reading

Fifth Day

I call this one “Too Much Not Enough.” We run in circles. We cry standing. Outside is gray. Inside is, too, until the baby plays peekaboo. Tasks accomplished like springs; push them down until you can’t hold them back any longer and damn it if they don’t knock you over. It’s way too much and […]

Continue Reading

Fourth Day

I call this one “She Goes Away.” “What is most exciting about going to Mexico?” I ask. “The sun,” she replies. “It will be sad.” And at the airport, I try not to say, “Have fun,” and yet I fail. Telling her to have fun is imposing on her an agenda. To lie is always […]

Continue Reading

Third Day: Family in 50

Our teachers are striking. Today is the third day. Reporting is that the sides — the teachers’ union and the school district — remain far apart. Let’s make things tougher and more satisfying by writing in 50 words exactly a snapshot of how daily life shows up with three little kids in the middle of […]

Continue Reading

Ribs

Flash fiction is, to me, a heart beating in your hands. I’m not talking about holding your hand over your chest and feeling its rhythm. I’m talking about the experience you’ll never have. Cupping your hands, cradling a beating heart. When I think of micro fiction, short short fiction or flash fiction, I think you’re […]

Continue Reading