Well, here I go, straight into my first piece of Flash Fiction. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you do, I could be tempted to write more. Though I still think a short story should last longer that a pot of coffee!
:)
Just a Thought?
His eyes had been closed a while. Opening them slowly, he looked up. Immediately, he caught her gaze again.
She smiled. Her eyes shone with a brightness that sliced through the overcast day. They cut into his drab existence, as if a razor had been drawn quickly over the skin of a ripe peach – sweetness oozed; a perfume of palpable intensity flowed over his soul.
Who was she?
The train thundered down the track, continuing its inexorable progress. In one hour, he thought, they’d reach the end of the line... it would be over.
He smiled a short, sheepish acknowledgement, not wanting to give the slightest impression that he was consumed by her presence.
Her smile… he’d never seen such a lovely smile. He had, of course! But, right now, at this instant, he held no memory of such another. It was the only thing he could focus upon – the only thing that seemed to him to be real.
She’d entered from behind him, walking the length of the near-empty carriage, before turning. She retraced her steps in his direction and, on catching his upward glance, she took the seat opposite his. Now she sat across the small table that separated them, smiling – as if she knew something.
Earlier, as she first took her seat, he’d averted his eyes – closed them. He’d allowed the rhythmic swaying of the carriage to draw him into its succour. As the heavy engine drew forward its tail of wanton, rumbling followers, the rhythm drew him into temporary sleep – the vision of the women’s face etched into his mind.
But now, though, he was awake. Awake to her attention, awake to the caress of that smile.
The women moved her arm with graceful ease, sliding her hand deftly within her purse, withdrawing her mobile phone.
He looked on, trying hard not to stare at her perfectly painted finger nails as she tapped out a text. He wished, not for the first time since she’d joined the train – for Christ’s sake, he’d even dreamed it – he wished he could summon the courage to speak. He wished he could ask her for the number of her telephone, so that he could, maybe, call her… if she didn’t mind?
But he looked on. Her beauty, the occasion, whatever… they conspired against him. He was struck dumb. “Please…,” he wanted to cry out.
The scenario played over in his mind as the train pulled into the station, the journey over.
He sat, transfixed, as the girl with the smile rose. She collected her purse and, stopping a moment, removed a card from a discreet silver case. She placed the card carefully before him, twisting her fingers until it faced him. She paused, holding his gaze once again in hers, and smiled a last smile.
“You asked for my number,” she said, and left the carriage.
The spell broken, he glanced down at the card: DR ALICE CRAVEN, MENTALIST, and the strap line: UNLOCK YOUR INNERMOST THOUGHTS.
Showing posts with label short stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short stories. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
Keeping ‘Em Short
An interesting thing happened on the way to this post. I’ve read voraciously my whole life, but I’ve never been much of a fan of the short story form. I don’t know what I was picking up before I started writing fiction but I typically found short story plots underdeveloped, with endings either too abrupt or too open ended for my taste (maybe both).
Recently, I’ve been working on an attitude adjustment. Conventional wisdom suggests that for first-time novelists looking to attract agent or publisher attention, literary credentials such as publishing short stories in magazines and anthologies can help move our queries up in the slush pile.
I do have an idea for a short story that happens to takes place here in Virginia, and while I’m noodling on it, I’ve actively started reading short stories again to better learn the form. Not surprisingly, I’ve had better luck getting into mystery short stories.
Laura Lippman is a new favorite, and her range often surprises me. Her stories can get pretty dark, which catches me off guard for another reason: have you seen the wholesome mugshot of her, with that broad, sunny grin, on the backs of her books? Could she really be writing some of those scary stories?
I’ve also been reading a lot of fellow authors from the Mid-Atlantic area, in particular, a series of anthologies by the Sisters in Crime Chesapeake Chapter, which I recently joined. I’ve greatly enjoyed what I’ve read from their first three collections. Their fourth anthology is out and the big launch party is this weekend (I hope to attend). And guess what? They’re calling for contributions to the fifth one. Only one requirement: the story has to be set in the Mid-Atlantic. Hm, maybe I should stop noodling and start writing?
Maybe you should too? Check out our own upcoming contest:
The Wicked team will be holding a unique contest this month. We’re asking our readers to try their own hand at writing short stories. Entrants submit a non-erotica short story under 3,000 words to wickedwriterz@yahoo.com by April 20th, 2010. First prize is to have your entry critiqued by three members on the team, the story will be posted here on the site, and you’ll be invited to guest blog with us in May! Second prize is a critique by two team members and to also have the story posted here on the site. Third prize will be one critique and an honorable mention.
Recently, I’ve been working on an attitude adjustment. Conventional wisdom suggests that for first-time novelists looking to attract agent or publisher attention, literary credentials such as publishing short stories in magazines and anthologies can help move our queries up in the slush pile.
I do have an idea for a short story that happens to takes place here in Virginia, and while I’m noodling on it, I’ve actively started reading short stories again to better learn the form. Not surprisingly, I’ve had better luck getting into mystery short stories.
Laura Lippman is a new favorite, and her range often surprises me. Her stories can get pretty dark, which catches me off guard for another reason: have you seen the wholesome mugshot of her, with that broad, sunny grin, on the backs of her books? Could she really be writing some of those scary stories?
I’ve also been reading a lot of fellow authors from the Mid-Atlantic area, in particular, a series of anthologies by the Sisters in Crime Chesapeake Chapter, which I recently joined. I’ve greatly enjoyed what I’ve read from their first three collections. Their fourth anthology is out and the big launch party is this weekend (I hope to attend). And guess what? They’re calling for contributions to the fifth one. Only one requirement: the story has to be set in the Mid-Atlantic. Hm, maybe I should stop noodling and start writing?
Maybe you should too? Check out our own upcoming contest:
The Wicked team will be holding a unique contest this month. We’re asking our readers to try their own hand at writing short stories. Entrants submit a non-erotica short story under 3,000 words to wickedwriterz@yahoo.com by April 20th, 2010. First prize is to have your entry critiqued by three members on the team, the story will be posted here on the site, and you’ll be invited to guest blog with us in May! Second prize is a critique by two team members and to also have the story posted here on the site. Third prize will be one critique and an honorable mention.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
My First Time… (or, The Virgin Short Story Writer)
There I was, idly sitting at my desk, twiddling with my mouse, thinking about more marketing moves to help with the promotion of River of Judgement, when I stumbled upon a competition. A short story competition was to be held as part of the Theakstons Old Peculier Crime Writing Festival, in the lovely Yorkshire town of Harrogate.
‘Here,’ says I, ‘is my chance to mix it with the likes of Ian Rankin, Val McDermid, Stuart MacBride, Christopher Brookmyre, Jeffery Deaver and Joanne Harris.’
All that was asked of me was to write a short crime story between 2,000 and 5,000 words long, beginning with a first line provided by Stuart MacBride:
“In my experience, those who beg for mercy seldom deserve it”
‘That,’ says I, ‘might be the start of it… but how the hell do I get from there to the end in under 5000 words?’ I’d never written a short story in my life! I don’t count those stories you get to write at school; I was never very good at English as a subject – either language or literature, but that is another, long, story.
Over a pint of ale (not Theakstons) in the village ale-house, my good friend, neighbour, and ex-journalist turned PR consultant, Ian, offered me a gem of advice. ‘Like a mini-skirt, David. Long enough to cover the essentials and short enough to hold your interest.’ (A very male point of view, I admit – but this is a Wicked place.)
The essentials? The plot. A crime would be a good start, and taking a lead from Aristotle: a beginning, middle and an end; the classic three-acts. Yes, I knew all that, but under 5000 words? ‘Come on... get real! And forget flash fiction, I’m not ready for that! I need help’, I (nearly) cried.
As luck would have it, I listen to a lot of talk radio during the day. That week there had been a series of afternoon plays, all adapted from Chekov short stories. ‘Hey, he’s famous, isn’t he? I heard myself say. ‘He wrote loads of short stories! Now what was that one I heard on Tuesday?’ I tried to remember the one that I missed the middle of because I was distracted by something. ‘A short skirt, wasn’t it?’ I mused.
[caption id="attachment_2129" align="alignright" width="86" caption="More Plotting?"]
[/caption]
Why re-invent the wheel. If, according to Christopher Booker, there are only seven basic plots, then we must all borrow from someone, somewhere along the line. ‘Why can’t I borrow from the Master!’ And, isn’t the internet wonderful? Moments later, after recalling the title, I had downloaded a copy of Anton Chekov’s The Black Monk – a great story with a supernatural theme.
I read The Black Monk, re-read it, and leant back in my chair. ‘Cool, this guy can write short stories.’ So, being an engineer I deconstructed the plot. I worked out that it had nine plot points. Not listing these, but if you are not sure of how something should look, deconstruction is a technique I would recommend. Why do some people love taking things apart? I always took things apart as a kid, then put them pack together again. Lego is a great toy! But I digress. This post is about a virgin short story writer.
‘I love that essential theme. The Black Monk. Brilliant! An inevitable decay into madness, punctuated by a love story. I want to mirror that theme and structure in my crime story. Now what’s that line again?’
“In my experience, those who beg for mercy seldom deserve it”.
Pen and paper. I love the old ways. I sat and (cheating here, with a calculator) divided my 5000 word challenge into nine sections. And, realising that simple is always best, I rounded each section to a maximum of 500 words (4500 is under 5000, so I figured I was OK with that). I wrote on my paper nine section titles which basically mirrored the plot points I had identified in Chekov’s story, and started writing. In two afternoons I had completed the story. With my good lady wife doing one editing run through, a few minor changes including ‘… This name doesn’t sound right,’ says she who (sometimes) must be obeyed.
‘Why?’ says I. I had no idea, but a women’s intuition should be listened to (sometimes)!
Some superfluous verbiage was cut out, the titles disposed of and the sections re-grouped into eight, and I had my first proper, non-school short story.
But was it good enough for the competition? Would it win me an audience with some of the great and the good in crime fiction? Would it win me a free entry to the Festival and a chance of being spotted by an Agent or Publisher?
I will never know! I never sent the story into the competition.
‘Why?’ echoed a voice from nowhere.
I liked it; my wife liked it; my mother-in-law liked it. Even one of my four sons liked it.
‘Only one,’ echoed the voice.
‘He was the only one either old enough or not studying for exams at the time. Now, quit with the echoes.’
I thought, ‘Hang on a cotton-picking minute… Am I not a publisher as well as an author? Have I not the courage of my own convictions? Do I really want to wait months for the announcement that my story might, or might not have won? Only to have wasted that time, if it had not. And what was I doing on this planet anyway? (Again, that is another, long, story!)
‘Be serious, a moment,’ I told myself. ‘There you were, sitting idly at your desk, twiddling your mouse, thinking about more marketing moves to help with the promotion of River of Judgement. Don’t you think…?’
[caption id="attachment_2131" align="alignright" width="99" caption="Go on... click! It's free."]
[/caption]
‘Of course!’ Inspiration. I’ve heard that short stories are a great way of showcasing a new writer’s work. ‘Why don’t I publish the short story alongside my novel?’ says I. ‘Marvellous,’ I replied.
The End.
‘Here,’ says I, ‘is my chance to mix it with the likes of Ian Rankin, Val McDermid, Stuart MacBride, Christopher Brookmyre, Jeffery Deaver and Joanne Harris.’
All that was asked of me was to write a short crime story between 2,000 and 5,000 words long, beginning with a first line provided by Stuart MacBride:
“In my experience, those who beg for mercy seldom deserve it”
‘That,’ says I, ‘might be the start of it… but how the hell do I get from there to the end in under 5000 words?’ I’d never written a short story in my life! I don’t count those stories you get to write at school; I was never very good at English as a subject – either language or literature, but that is another, long, story.
Over a pint of ale (not Theakstons) in the village ale-house, my good friend, neighbour, and ex-journalist turned PR consultant, Ian, offered me a gem of advice. ‘Like a mini-skirt, David. Long enough to cover the essentials and short enough to hold your interest.’ (A very male point of view, I admit – but this is a Wicked place.)
The essentials? The plot. A crime would be a good start, and taking a lead from Aristotle: a beginning, middle and an end; the classic three-acts. Yes, I knew all that, but under 5000 words? ‘Come on... get real! And forget flash fiction, I’m not ready for that! I need help’, I (nearly) cried.As luck would have it, I listen to a lot of talk radio during the day. That week there had been a series of afternoon plays, all adapted from Chekov short stories. ‘Hey, he’s famous, isn’t he? I heard myself say. ‘He wrote loads of short stories! Now what was that one I heard on Tuesday?’ I tried to remember the one that I missed the middle of because I was distracted by something. ‘A short skirt, wasn’t it?’ I mused.
[caption id="attachment_2129" align="alignright" width="86" caption="More Plotting?"]
[/caption]Why re-invent the wheel. If, according to Christopher Booker, there are only seven basic plots, then we must all borrow from someone, somewhere along the line. ‘Why can’t I borrow from the Master!’ And, isn’t the internet wonderful? Moments later, after recalling the title, I had downloaded a copy of Anton Chekov’s The Black Monk – a great story with a supernatural theme.
I read The Black Monk, re-read it, and leant back in my chair. ‘Cool, this guy can write short stories.’ So, being an engineer I deconstructed the plot. I worked out that it had nine plot points. Not listing these, but if you are not sure of how something should look, deconstruction is a technique I would recommend. Why do some people love taking things apart? I always took things apart as a kid, then put them pack together again. Lego is a great toy! But I digress. This post is about a virgin short story writer.
‘I love that essential theme. The Black Monk. Brilliant! An inevitable decay into madness, punctuated by a love story. I want to mirror that theme and structure in my crime story. Now what’s that line again?’
“In my experience, those who beg for mercy seldom deserve it”.
Pen and paper. I love the old ways. I sat and (cheating here, with a calculator) divided my 5000 word challenge into nine sections. And, realising that simple is always best, I rounded each section to a maximum of 500 words (4500 is under 5000, so I figured I was OK with that). I wrote on my paper nine section titles which basically mirrored the plot points I had identified in Chekov’s story, and started writing. In two afternoons I had completed the story. With my good lady wife doing one editing run through, a few minor changes including ‘… This name doesn’t sound right,’ says she who (sometimes) must be obeyed.
‘Why?’ says I. I had no idea, but a women’s intuition should be listened to (sometimes)!
Some superfluous verbiage was cut out, the titles disposed of and the sections re-grouped into eight, and I had my first proper, non-school short story.
But was it good enough for the competition? Would it win me an audience with some of the great and the good in crime fiction? Would it win me a free entry to the Festival and a chance of being spotted by an Agent or Publisher?
I will never know! I never sent the story into the competition.
‘Why?’ echoed a voice from nowhere.
I liked it; my wife liked it; my mother-in-law liked it. Even one of my four sons liked it.
‘Only one,’ echoed the voice.
‘He was the only one either old enough or not studying for exams at the time. Now, quit with the echoes.’
I thought, ‘Hang on a cotton-picking minute… Am I not a publisher as well as an author? Have I not the courage of my own convictions? Do I really want to wait months for the announcement that my story might, or might not have won? Only to have wasted that time, if it had not. And what was I doing on this planet anyway? (Again, that is another, long, story!)
‘Be serious, a moment,’ I told myself. ‘There you were, sitting idly at your desk, twiddling your mouse, thinking about more marketing moves to help with the promotion of River of Judgement. Don’t you think…?’
[caption id="attachment_2131" align="alignright" width="99" caption="Go on... click! It's free."]
[/caption]‘Of course!’ Inspiration. I’ve heard that short stories are a great way of showcasing a new writer’s work. ‘Why don’t I publish the short story alongside my novel?’ says I. ‘Marvellous,’ I replied.
The End.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Served Up Short with a Side of Gore
Let me get right to the point this week. The horror genre is best read as a short story or novella. Unfortunately, the publishing industry doesn’t seem to agree with me. Case in point, Stephen King’s long drawn out horror novels like It.
Don’t get me wrong, I am a fan of Mr. King and consider him a master of horror in his older, shorter works. And, he’s certainly not the only author who’s written a looonnngggg horror novel I didn’t enjoy. I’m also a huge fan of Clive Barker, but after suffering through The Great and Secret Show, I won’t pick up another one of his longer novels.
I read and write horror for the shock and gore factor. Isn’t that the point of the genre? To make the reader squirm? Over four-hundred pages of background details, character development, subplots, and love stories are just a waste of time if everyone is going to die a gruesome and tormented death in the end.
Looking back at my reading history, I remember a specific childhood trip to the library, where I happened upon collections of short ghost stories for young adults. I sat with the first book, eyes glued to the pages, start to finish, frightened to the bone. I read through every book in the collection with equal fervor. Those books fed my addiction to horror, and ever since, I’ve sought out short fiction that‘s equally chilling. Poe was one of my favorites as a teen and today my favorite short horror author is Ramsey Campbell, but there are so many other collections by various authors I can’t resist. Unfortunately, more often than not, you end up with an anthology of the really good with the really bad.
Thanks to my freshman high school English teacher, I later found myself addicted to writing horror. Amazing woman put up with my horrific short stories. While everyone else wrote about their lovely Christmas holidays, I handed in a short story about Mrs. Clause beating Santa to death with a frozen turkey, after he arrived home late to Christmas dinner. It wasn’t exactly an original idea if you remember an old Alfred Hitchcock Presents episode, Lamb to the Slaughter. In the show, the wife kills her husband with a frozen leg of lamb, then feeds the cooked lamb to the police officers investigating his murder. Hey, we all gotta start writing somewhere.
I still write a lot of short horror stories. I especially like to take a break from a novel, during the onset of an over-thinking rut, to torture a few people in a flash fiction tale. Or, take a step back and write my entire novel in 50 words, a little trick I learned from Gaynor Stenson, the publisher I interviewed here a couple weeks ago. Over at Vamplit Writers, she challenged us to write horrific fifty word stories. Here’s the one I wrote for The Courier.
It’s a constant work in progress. I spent a half hour updating it just to present it here, and still hate it. Reads too much like a pitch.
So I challenge you to warm up for the short story contest by leaving a 50 word story in the comments here today. Doesn't have to be horror.
Don’t get me wrong, I am a fan of Mr. King and consider him a master of horror in his older, shorter works. And, he’s certainly not the only author who’s written a looonnngggg horror novel I didn’t enjoy. I’m also a huge fan of Clive Barker, but after suffering through The Great and Secret Show, I won’t pick up another one of his longer novels.
I read and write horror for the shock and gore factor. Isn’t that the point of the genre? To make the reader squirm? Over four-hundred pages of background details, character development, subplots, and love stories are just a waste of time if everyone is going to die a gruesome and tormented death in the end.Looking back at my reading history, I remember a specific childhood trip to the library, where I happened upon collections of short ghost stories for young adults. I sat with the first book, eyes glued to the pages, start to finish, frightened to the bone. I read through every book in the collection with equal fervor. Those books fed my addiction to horror, and ever since, I’ve sought out short fiction that‘s equally chilling. Poe was one of my favorites as a teen and today my favorite short horror author is Ramsey Campbell, but there are so many other collections by various authors I can’t resist. Unfortunately, more often than not, you end up with an anthology of the really good with the really bad.
Thanks to my freshman high school English teacher, I later found myself addicted to writing horror. Amazing woman put up with my horrific short stories. While everyone else wrote about their lovely Christmas holidays, I handed in a short story about Mrs. Clause beating Santa to death with a frozen turkey, after he arrived home late to Christmas dinner. It wasn’t exactly an original idea if you remember an old Alfred Hitchcock Presents episode, Lamb to the Slaughter. In the show, the wife kills her husband with a frozen leg of lamb, then feeds the cooked lamb to the police officers investigating his murder. Hey, we all gotta start writing somewhere.
I still write a lot of short horror stories. I especially like to take a break from a novel, during the onset of an over-thinking rut, to torture a few people in a flash fiction tale. Or, take a step back and write my entire novel in 50 words, a little trick I learned from Gaynor Stenson, the publisher I interviewed here a couple weeks ago. Over at Vamplit Writers, she challenged us to write horrific fifty word stories. Here’s the one I wrote for The Courier.
Unable to hold down a job, Barry acquiesces to serve Satan for a lifelong paycheck. Soon overcome with remorse, he seeks a way to resign, but the only possible escape is through the lesser of two evils. In the end, he’s still held accountable.It’s a constant work in progress. I spent a half hour updating it just to present it here, and still hate it. Reads too much like a pitch.
So I challenge you to warm up for the short story contest by leaving a 50 word story in the comments here today. Doesn't have to be horror.
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