When I was a young boy at school we were taught to describe, using lots of words, when we wrote stories. Essays, stories, reports, everything was done to a word count. Padding became second nature and as an adult ‘would-be’ novelist, it’s a trend I’ve continued. Advertisements
I wrote this short story last year in a fit of creativity. I originally submitted it to a competition but it wasn’t right for them. Having read some of the winners pieces I can see why. It was a very different path taken to the winners and those who placed. I’m considering submitting another attempt this year. But in the meantime I have a short 600-odd word story, so I thought I’d put it up here. I hope you enjoy it, and if you do leave a comment. Hell, even if you don’t leave a comment. Constructive feedback is always welcome.
Yesterday I wrote about my “practice novel”, the next piece of writing I’m going to undertake to give myself something to practice on. To learn new techniques, to write only for the joy of telling the story and not worrying about publishing deals or publishing at all. To just write and learn and have some fun.
When you make the decision to write, whether it’s a: story, novel, novella, or short fiction piece, staying with the idea long enough to actually accomplish something can be easier said than done.
Over the years I’ve attempted write countless novels. My problem has always been though that I get “bored.” Well not so much bored, as I lose track where the plot is going or can’t for the life of me figure out how to get my characters from point A to point B, so instead I claim “alack and alas tis all crap.”
Everything in my life has been going so well lately. I’ve been healthier than I have felt in a long time. Work is good. My writing is taking me to places I’d never before dreamt were a possibility. My confidence in myself has been sky high.
Back in mid 2013 I read an article about the discovery of an abandoned Temple complex in the far north of Scotland. The article queried how a temple had come to be located in such a desolate and unforgiving landscape. Not only that, but how based on archeological evidence a thriving town had grown to support the temple complex.
There’s something about old photographs I just love. I could lose hours wandering through google, looking at photos of couples and families long gone. The moment, forever frozen in time. Photography, particularly those from Victorian England, set my imagination ablaze. I find myself looking at the ghostly images of other days, other eras, and my mind begins to wander. What where they thinking? What stories did they have to tell? Where they happy, sad, indifferent to the experience?