Something I do to help myself learn to write where every word counts is by writing stories that are exactly 100 words long. I thought it would be impossible at first, but it isn’t. It just requires making every word pull its own weight. Plus — it truly takes very little time to read.
Short, short story by Becky Ruth Powell
She looked at the name on the wedding cake. She couldn’t remember whether she was Lisa, or Beth, or Mary. She was Lenora this time. She looked at her new in-laws, who adored her. Mother, aunt, sister, like three scoops of sherbet in pastel dresses, strands of pearls buried in folds of neck-fat.
Lenora considered whether she’d rushed things by spiking his cup of wedding punch, but when his head plopped onto her shoulder she dismissed doubt.
Amid the chaos of death, she inherited his sizeable estate. Her in-laws fussed so over her well-being, she grew fond of being Lenora.