Daniel N. Flanagan Writing

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Flanagan's flash fiction "Life Isn't Real" (written when he was 18 y/o) delves quickly into the mind of a disturbed man having an argument with the bickering narrators of his life who live in his mind.

Published by Voluted Tales 07/09/14.

Flanagan's most popular tale, Red Sauce & Vicodin, proves his talent in this psychologically tumultuous tale; easily creating his most interesting and sympathized with character.

The protagonist is a college aged male, who has developed a delusional sense of reality due to his extremely dysfunctional family and drug abuse.

The content is riddled with dark humor and graphic material.


                                                                                                                                    Originally published by The Round Up Writer's Zine on 02/06/2014

"Daddy's Girl" is Flanagan's first published short story. It is raw and gritty, following the diary entries of a troubled 18 yr old girl with an incarerrated father.

Comparable to Susanna Kaysen's Girl, Interrupted we see the demise of a wealthy, young girl. From high school and social popularity, she crumbles under the looming pressures of graduation and life after high school and succumbs to her demons and egocentric tendencies, eventually winding her up in a mental hospital. It is there that the family secret she has hidden from herself is finally revealed.


Originally published by The Commonline Journal on 12/02/13


                                                                                       Republished by Black Market Lit on 03/18/14

His short story "Dylan; & The Hooker Formerly Known As Tiffany" is an experimental, surrealist tale available here http://ow.ly/vcMgj on Kindle for only $3.99.

Flanagan's story is told by a narrator who is openly aware of being the narrator of the story, and continues to communicate with the readers during his story telling.

Dylan is a young man living with a fascist of a grandfather and is seeking alternate ways to escape himself, be it alcohol, drugs or hookers. During one such bender, he calls up his favorite on-call girl, Tiffany, for a reckless night.

His short story "To Paul, With Love" is available for view and purchase here, http://aforabnormal.files.wordpress.com/2014/04/issue-1-pdf.pdf

Flanagan's 2,000 word tale takes aim at drug-fueled family turmoil. It is written in prose and features an experimental layout which divides the story into the classic exposition, complication, crisis, climax, resolution frame.

"To Paul, With Love" begins with Dan, the 21 year old protagonist, taking an ill-lit, snow filled walk out to his car to retrieve a case of beer from his trunk. It is here that he encounters a police officer with a personal vendetta against his father. The cop harasses him, leading to a physical altercation, which brings about irreversible consequences.

Story was originally published in Yellow Mama on 02/14/2014.


"Flower Watching" is a short 1,000 word flash fiction about a college guy. It is nonsensical and dream-like.


Originally published by Eskimo Pie on 02/14/14.

His short story "It's Kind of a Love Story", which is entitled out of respect to the late author of "It's Kind of a Funny Story", Ned Vizzini, is available in print for $3.40.


This is Flanagan's longest work to date, sitting around 5,500 words, and is written in a literary style, mixed with his notable prose.

The story starts with Matt, a college aged male devoted to the gym and the bottle, wasting away the summer months before he transfers schools.

The stunning Kristen struts into Matt's work, collecting a mass of stares, and asks him out on a date, which hauntingly alters the rest of his summer.

Flanagan's new tale, "Once Upon A Worcester Winter" is his rendition of contemporary love.

Set in a bar room with a college aged, reclusive poet with self-destructive tendencies and a bubbly broad who is intrigued by him. The two are immediately drawn into an alcohol induced infatuation and soon leave the bar after having danced and explored each other.
It isn't until they leave the establishment and enter the waging blizzard outside that things get dangerous. A couple hit cars, police evasion, and near death's of our protagonists leaves the fate of the couple up to the reader.

This story is just under three thousand words and is Flanagan's second story to be published in The Round Up Writer's Zine. (05/14/14)

Bathroom Tale: 2

    And I was sitting on the toilet, in modern day, in present day. Disregard my conjunctions today, they help me function. So there I was, scanning Craigslist for the perfect part-time job, for clearly writing isn’t my ticket out. Scrolling the pages I hunched over, hand on bearded cheek with eyes drifting away.        

    I went away to my vehicle of all wonderful places to have been imagined. In the ’03 I cruised. The music was on and I was off. I was driving down a regular road, a 40 mph road, when the thought hit me; to hit me, myself. The large pine tree I was driving ever so closely to. I was hunting it, to eradicate myself. It was Spring time, bear in mind; it is not relevant though, so please, disregard that last line.

    I glided off the road, half onto the grass, wondering what the crash would feel like. If it would be a good idea or not. I knew I wasn’t cut out to find a new job, did not have the mental stability, and yet. I was numb, but there were some primal instincts which refused to flitter off. I went back and forth, left and right, veering over grass and pavement, trying to decide my fate.

    I envisioned hitting the tree at 40, air bags smashing into my face, seatbelt leaving a bruise. I figured a broken nose was the worst I would face and that was comforting, for I did not want to die; that would be crazy. I did however, want to feel the impact I had always dreamed of, thought of, silently schemed of, anyways.

    I swerved off at the last moment, because you are either suicidal or a pussy. I am the latter, and attention seeking; a pretentious writer in need of a dollar and a new dream.

    This story could continue, I could tell you how the car in my dream received a flat tire, how the small town cops flashed their lights and I drove home instead, knowing I wasn’t inebriated, only intoxicatingly self-loathing, and so me and the cops fixed my flat before they arrested me, deemed me a danger to myself and others, sent me to a mental hospital, most likely McLean, for I know no other, and, possibly, wrote of my adventures there…?

    But honestly, when sitting in the heated bathroom and looking for a job on craigslist. You lose the desire to write about what-if’s, when my dream is fleeting before my eyes.

    Maybe next time.


Originally published in Danse Macabre du Jour on 01/30/14.

Daniel N. Flanagan, Writing, Worcester MA, @DanielNFlanagan, The Commonline Journal, The Round Up Zine, Beyond Imagination Digital Literary Magazine, Danse Macabre du Jour, Yellow Mama, Aberration Labyrinth, Pyrokinection, Leaves of Ink, The Camel Saloon, Three line poetry, Eskimo Pie, Dead Snakes, The Stray Branch, The Onyx, Daddy's Girl, Writer, Lilac, Ex-Girlfriend, Drive Home, An Artists Rendering, N.O. Xplode, Kip