Tag: Challenge

Short Story writing – don’t try this at home! – Part 1

This is not a treatise, but a tongue in cheek, discussion on how to write short stories.   Suffice to say this is not the definitive way of doing it, just mine.  It works for me – it might not work for you.

Everyone has one in them, possibly more, and me, well, it’s how I keep the wolves from the door.

Yes, I read my stories to them and they fall asleep.

Or maybe not, I’m never quite sure what effect anything I write has on anyone.  And, reading a lot of the posts on how to handle bad reviews and rejection, such a recurrent theme, I don’t think I want to.

Ignorance is bliss, is it not?

Well, one day I’m sure something will happen.  It’s probably in the seven stages of writing:

Euphoria

Planning

Research

Writing

Failure

Search for the guilty

Distinction for the uninvolved

I guess you don’t fail if you don’t put it out there.  Searching for the guilty, well, there’s only one person to blame, the editor, and distinction for the uninvolved, didn’t your friend, relation, confidente, significant other, say it wasn’t going to work?

But, despite everything, I like writing short stories and try to produce one in a single sitting.  I try to keep the word count down, but the stories, somehow they just evolve in my head and don’t want to end the main character’s story.

In reality, there is no end to the story unless they die, and then, of course, the story branches off, just like a family tree,

Some stories are so intricate, they need another story to fill in the gaps, and then another because the plot is running through your head at a thousand miles an hour and your fingers won’t stop typing, because if you do, it will all dissipate into thin air like smoke.

Stories can, you know, dissipate like smoke, one minute your mining a rich vein the next, you’ve hit a ton of worthless quartz.

Then all the constraints come into play, nagging at the back of your mind, and you find yourself waking up in a bath of sweat crying out, I didn’t do it, the crime that is, not lose the best 2,000 words you’ve ever written.

But that’s all of those words you write, isn’t it?

But I digress, and I’ll write some more on the subject, what was it again?

Short Story writing – don’t try this at home! – Part 1

This is not a treatise, but a tongue in cheek, discussion on how to write short stories.   Suffice to say this is not the definitive way of doing it, just mine.  It works for me – it might not work for you.

Everyone has one in them, possibly more, and me, well, it’s how I keep the wolves from the door.

Yes, I read my stories to them and they fall asleep.

Or maybe not, I’m never quite sure what effect anything I write has on anyone.  And, reading a lot of the posts on how to handle bad reviews and rejection, such a recurrent theme, I don’t think I want to.

Ignorance is bliss, is it not?

Well, one day I’m sure something will happen.  It’s probably in the seven stages of writing:

Euphoria

Planning

Research

Writing

Failure

Search for the guilty

Distinction for the uninvolved

I guess you don’t fail if you don’t put it out there.  Searching for the guilty, well, there’s only one person to blame, the editor, and distinction for the uninvolved, didn’t your friend, relation, confidente, significant other, say it wasn’t going to work?

But, despite everything, I like writing short stories and try to produce one in a single sitting.  I try to keep the word count down, but the stories, somehow they just evolve in my head and don’t want to end the main character’s story.

In reality, there is no end to the story unless they die, and then, of course, the story branches off, just like a family tree,

Some stories are so intricate, they need another story to fill in the gaps, and then another because the plot is running through your head at a thousand miles an hour and your fingers won’t stop typing, because if you do, it will all dissipate into thin air like smoke.

Stories can, you know, dissipate like smoke, one minute your mining a rich vein the next, you’ve hit a ton of worthless quartz.

Then all the constraints come into play, nagging at the back of your mind, and you find yourself waking up in a bath of sweat crying out, I didn’t do it, the crime that is, not lose the best 2,000 words you’ve ever written.

But that’s all of those words you write, isn’t it?

But I digress, and I’ll write some more on the subject, what was it again?

Short Story writing – don’t try this at home! – Part 1

This is not a treatise, but a tongue in cheek, discussion on how to write short stories.   Suffice to say this is not the definitive way of doing it, just mine.  It works for me – it might not work for you.

Everyone has one in them, possibly more, and me, well, it’s how I keep the wolves from the door.

Yes, I read my stories to them and they fall asleep.

Or maybe not, I’m never quite sure what effect anything I write has on anyone.  And, reading a lot of the posts on how to handle bad reviews and rejection, such a recurrent theme, I don’t think I want to.

Ignorance is bliss, is it not?

Well, one day I’m sure something will happen.  It’s probably in the seven stages of writing:

Euphoria

Planning

Research

Writing

Failure

Search for the guilty

Distinction for the uninvolved

I guess you don’t fail if you don’t put it out there.  Searching for the guilty, well, there’s only one person to blame, the editor, and distinction for the uninvolved, didn’t your friend, relation, confidente, significant other, say it wasn’t going to work?

But, despite everything, I like writing short stories and try to produce one in a single sitting.  I try to keep the word count down, but the stories, somehow they just evolve in my head and don’t want to end the main character’s story.

In reality, there is no end to the story unless they die, and then, of course, the story branches off, just like a family tree,

Some stories are so intricate, they need another story to fill in the gaps, and then another because the plot is running through your head at a thousand miles an hour and your fingers won’t stop typing, because if you do, it will all dissipate into thin air like smoke.

Stories can, you know, dissipate like smoke, one minute your mining a rich vein the next, you’ve hit a ton of worthless quartz.

Then all the constraints come into play, nagging at the back of your mind, and you find yourself waking up in a bath of sweat crying out, I didn’t do it, the crime that is, not lose the best 2,000 words you’ve ever written.

But that’s all of those words you write, isn’t it?

But I digress, and I’ll write some more on the subject, what was it again?

In a word: Dual

Ever heard of a dual carriageway, it’s a fancy name for a road that has at least two lanes each way.

Even more strange might be the expression, dual personalities. No, we’re not talking about a person who has schizophrenia , but someone who is a Gemini, and might be happy one minute and suddenly horrible the next.

I’m a Gemini and have first hand experience.

I learned to drive in a car with dual controls, and it was sometimes disconcerting to find the car stopping, and you were not doing it.

Dual controls also exist in airplanes, which I have to say is a good thing, especially if either of the pilots have a heart attack.

Some people have a dual nationality. I would have liked to be British as well as Australian, but it’s no longer possible, and like most countries you have to pick one and pledge your allegiance to it.

Or is that duel?

Let’s gets some swords and have a duel. I know who would win, and it would not be me.

OK, let’s switch to pistols and 20 paces, and alas, I don’t think I’d win that one either.

Duels are this actions people have with deadly weapons usually over a matter of honour. I’m not sure why those duels are at dawn when most people are still asleep, including the duellers.

I wonder if this duel thing had something to do with throwing down the gauntlet. It’s an interesting subject and one I’ll look into later.

Is the grass greener …

On the other side ….

20151024_104248

As to what side I’m referring to, I’ll let you make up your own mind …

But…

We’re in the grip of a drought, and finding some green grass is very hard.

Rain is not predicted for quite some time, so I expect in a few months time the question will be, is the grass browner on the other side?

Somehow, it just doesn’t have the same ring about it, does it?

Aside from that, there is that saying, ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’, and, while it may once meant that your neighbour had it better than you, to me it always meant that if your were looking for something better, you were not going to find it.

My father said it more than once in my lifetime, but then, he always said I liked ‘living high on the hog’, simply because I preferred the finer things in life, like champagne, eating in five star restaurants, and staying in six star hotels.

I tried to tell him I was only trying to find out ‘how the other half lived’.

I guess it’s not a good time to say ‘it’s no use vlosing the stable door after the horse has bolted’.

Is the grass greener …

On the other side ….

20151024_104248

As to what side I’m referring to, I’ll let you make up your own mind …

But…

We’re in the grip of a drought, and finding some green grass is very hard.

Rain is not predicted for quite some time, so I expect in a few months time the question will be, is the grass browner on the other side?

Somehow, it just doesn’t have the same ring about it, does it?

Aside from that, there is that saying, ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’, and, while it may once meant that your neighbour had it better than you, to me it always meant that if your were looking for something better, you were not going to find it.

My father said it more than once in my lifetime, but then, he always said I liked ‘living high on the hog’, simply because I preferred the finer things in life, like champagne, eating in five star restaurants, and staying in six star hotels.

I tried to tell him I was only trying to find out ‘how the other half lived’.

I guess it’s not a good time to say ‘it’s no use vlosing the stable door after the horse has bolted’.

Searching for locations: Venice, ships come and ships go

Through this window, which wasn’t one of those floor to ceiling, walk out onto a balcony type windows, we saw big ships, little ships, small boats, and then huge ocean liners.And when that wasn’t enough, sunrise and sunset, or just the sight of Venice in the sunshine

The many vaporettos that came and went

It was simply a matter of watching ships go by, or watching the Venetians go about the daily business
Ferries that would arrive in the morning, and leave at night, small

and large

Small ocean liners

Very, very large ocean liners

And everything in between

Searching for locations: Venice, ships come and ships go

Through this window, which wasn’t one of those floor to ceiling, walk out onto a balcony type windows, we saw big ships, little ships, small boats, and then huge ocean liners.And when that wasn’t enough, sunrise and sunset, or just the sight of Venice in the sunshine

The many vaporettos that came and went

It was simply a matter of watching ships go by, or watching the Venetians go about the daily business
Ferries that would arrive in the morning, and leave at night, small

and large

Small ocean liners

Very, very large ocean liners

And everything in between

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 99

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

20151219_163915

This is Chester.

Not everything is fine in la-la-land, as he now calls it.

Not happy that I didn’t tell him about the second week of child invasion.

He should consider himself lucky that the school week started on Tuesday, and only one was staying home to do schoolwork.

The other has been able to return to the classroom.

One less tormentor, I heard him mutter as he slinked past the room where the homeschooler was working.

But a more sinister problem had arisen.

He’s stopped eating his food.  I first thought this was part of a two-week standoff, where he cuts his nose off to spite his face.

This is not the first time we’ve been through this.

So, just to see if it is a fit of pique, I get him his absolute favorite food.  Fresh Atlantic Salmon cut into small pieces just the way he likes it.

Yes, the aroma reaches him in his hiding spot, along with the call-out that I’d bought him salmon, but when he goes to the bowl, he takes a sniff, or two, then wanders away.

He doesn’t even look at me.

Very, very unusual.

I will be keeping an eye on this.

 

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 99

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

20151219_163915

This is Chester.

Not everything is fine in la-la-land, as he now calls it.

Not happy that I didn’t tell him about the second week of child invasion.

He should consider himself lucky that the school week started on Tuesday, and only one was staying home to do schoolwork.

The other has been able to return to the classroom.

One less tormentor, I heard him mutter as he slinked past the room where the homeschooler was working.

But a more sinister problem had arisen.

He’s stopped eating his food.  I first thought this was part of a two-week standoff, where he cuts his nose off to spite his face.

This is not the first time we’ve been through this.

So, just to see if it is a fit of pique, I get him his absolute favorite food.  Fresh Atlantic Salmon cut into small pieces just the way he likes it.

Yes, the aroma reaches him in his hiding spot, along with the call-out that I’d bought him salmon, but when he goes to the bowl, he takes a sniff, or two, then wanders away.

He doesn’t even look at me.

Very, very unusual.

I will be keeping an eye on this.