Tag Archives: writers

Have You Read A Very Short Story Today? Part 4

A smorgasbord of twitfic from the past couple of days, and a bonus poem. The content ranges from absurdist romance, existential contemplation and a nod to childhood games and Indiana Jones.

On Friday I will post a bonus themed set of twitfic based on the idea of light.

Today’s Menu

I.

He pegged his clothes in semaphore, glancing over the fence to see if the neighbour responded. The following day her own code answered.

II.

He patted the black dog sprawled like a blanket over his feet making it hard to get up. “I think it’s time to go, Old Yella,” he said.

III.

The handwritten note taped to his bedroom door read, “Teh floor iz lava.” “This will make getting to bed a bit tricky,” he said.

IV.

The thin shaft of light from the curtains divided the lounge room in half. He prepared to cross, wondering if there were poison arrows.

V.

“It’s a matter of perspective. Are you coming or going?” he asked.

“From there to here or here to there?”

“Wherever your feet lead.”

VI.

Their connection sparked as they reached for toilet paper. But he knew it wouldn’t work; she reached for 2-ply while he grasped 3-ply.

VII.

Koi circled over, under; a universe expanding, contracting as their tails flowed like comets and mouths as black holes consumed food.

And today’s bonus poem.

While I sit on my bike
At the level crossing
The bells sound ding-da-ding
Red and white arms crossed
Then open and beckon
A thousand paths

Have You Read A Very Short Story Today? Part 3

Why write twitfic? I like the immediacy of the form.

Even though it lacks the depth of a short story and the carefully structured nuances of a novel, twitfic captures the essence of forward momentum in a given scene.

My preferred genre to write in is suburban realism, a term coined for me by a friend. I don’t write spec fic, sci fi, fantasy, horror, romance, historical or *insert genre here* (although I do like reading some of them).

I write about people in the current moments of their life. This for me, is the charm of story. Little moments of every day, when seen as a whole, is like a daisy chain of memory or a rosary to be recited.

These moments can be whimsical, humourous, reflective, serious, ones of regret, loss, pain, sorrow or love.

These moments are what I attempt to capture in writing twitfic.

Today’s Offerings:

I.

Every day of his 20s he wrote himself a note, sealed it and waited sixty years. Every day of his 80s a new revelation awaited.

II.

Others sat absorbed in books or papers; he with the view outside the train window. “It’s never the same story,” he once answered.

III.

Standing midst the blackened skeletons of once proud trees the ash turned her sandalled feet grey. She spotted the first green spark.

IV.

He took the new pair of underpants from the packet and put them on. In the mirror he twisted and squatted. “Ladies undies do fit nicely.”

V.

The gaping maw of the steam engine’s furnace harnessed the fury.
“Oi, son, where the hell you been?” roared his father.
He recoiled.

Have You Read A Very Short Story Today? Part 2

Whether or not you subscribe to the idea that you can write a complete story in 140 characters, there is a challenge to compose a piece of writing that can be loosely termed a “story,” something that has a beginning, a middle and an end.

I see Twitter fiction (twitfic) as capturing a moment, a breath, a held thought, but one that has movement and momentum both forward and backwards.

The power of the story relies on the choice of imagery and sentence structure by the writer to paint the broadest picture with the fewest brush strokes.

It does rely on you, the reader, to fill in the gaps and create the character, using your knowledge and understanding of story to join the dots and create your own meaning to the story.

Here is my latest collection of twitfic.

The coins gratefully absorbed the warmth of her hands. Placed on his eyelids they tried to give back warmth where there was no life.

 

I.

He stood watching the town’s first set of traffic lights order the comings and goings. After the third set of changes he went on green.

II.

He played every game show, answered every question, took home fabulous prizes but his biggest regret was losing Monopoly to his nephews.

III.

He collects the whispers like butterflies; pinned to mounting board and labelled. When he has sufficient they burn and float as ghosts.

IV.

She replaced every mirror in the house with a funhouse version to imitate the reality she saw. One day someone offered her a hammer.

V.

Fold, crease, fold again as the water lily took form in paper. She dropped it into the gutter’s surge and wished as it sailed away.

Do you have a particular favourite? Which one and why?

Life In A Sandwich – Micropoetry

A sandwich cut into triangles

Reflective symmetry of order

Yet between the layers

A disordered concoction

But it’s how he liked his life

 

Spinning Silken Answers – Micro Poetry

I have always loved the creative marvel that is a spider’s web; intricate and delicate, while strong and resilient. It is easily broken, and easily repaired, yet not without cost to the spider. It is a wonderful construction and a sign of decay and decrepitude.

These ideas sparked this poem.

Plucking at the spider’s web

Of silken strength

Elegant engineering

A sign of abandonment

And decay

She walks home with answers

Button Up – Very Short Story

This evening a friend who is participating in National Novel Writing Month asked for some prompts to help them along while writing today.

Someone wrote this: “Mismatched buttons sliding around the bottom of the underwear drawer.”

My mother used to have a plastic ice cream container of buttons. I have no idea where they all came from; I assume years of extraneous buttons collected from clothes or the bottom of the washing machine.

It sparked this piece of twitter fiction:

He scooped a handful of mismatched buttons & let them scatter on the table into a random alphabet of hand-me-downs, wishing for his own.

Have You Read A Very Short Story Today?

Today I had a little splurge on writing very short stories on twitter. I’ve compiled them here for your perusal, with a little refinement. (Must return to writing my novella.)

I.

He held the dandelion in his pudgy hand.

“I am the destroyer of worlds,” he said, then blew.

A hundred worlds took flight in genesis.

II.

She watched the rain speak in the puddles; the geometric voice of Gallifrey she saw on tv, retreated into her mind to explore time & space.

III.

The inhabitants of Kelvinator measured their daily cycle by the light’s sporadic flashes. They cursed their gods when the light failed.

IV.

The telephone wires paralleled his pace with the road; watching the cables looping from post to post, connecting the lover and the loved as a physical symbol.

Which is your favourite? Write one of your own in the comments.

Raining Arguments – Very Short Story

Behind her the argument continued as she watched two rain drops run parallel down the window, merged, then broke apart again.

Watching – Very Short Story

He lay his head on his arm, ear against the watch, listening to the soft clicking of the mechanism and counted until the monsters left.

Eat Your Heroes

After my post on Tuesday, Is Comparison Killing Your Creativity? a good friend of mine, Deane, sent me a lengthy response.

I have his permission to reproduce it here because it dovetails nicely with Tuesday’s post.

Deane has been a creative inspiration to me, even before I applied myself to writing, music and teaching. He’s the kind of guy whose artistic vision and creative endeavours leaves you slavering for more. When he talks about the things he wants to do, intends to do, gets around to doing, you want to go there with him and see it all happen.

Tuesday’s post dealt with the danger of comparing yourself to others and how it kills your creativity. Deane discusses the effect of slavish devotion and imitation of your creative heroes. And it comes with a warning. 

Eat Your Heroes

DEANE PATTERSON

Even the most ardent and individual creator needs input to learn, excel and eventually dominate their field. We all want to be like the giants of our chosen art form, and we read their books, blogs and imbibe their art as part of the process of learning to bring our own endeavours to life.

I recently read the first chapter of a book created by a personal inspiration: photographer Gregory Heisler. The book delves more into the mind-set rather than the technical approach of a man who has shot more than 70 Time Magazine covers.

I have wanted to expand my photography. I have one light. I have one short lens. The only thing smaller would be a body cap with a hole drilled in it as a pinhole camera. I usually have 5 minutes or less to craft a portrait that is intended for a wall sized print.

But in the first few pages, the master suggests that he too wished that he had more than 5 minutes to take a picture. He emoted his desire to just travel with one light. His description of the need to keep a certain distance (not to close, not to far) suggested I had the perfect lens.

I was looking for the magic beans, the formula. Perhaps, dare I utter the words, a reproducible technique?

Heisler said in a recent interview, “You can learn a technique, but the first time you get in a situation where it doesn’t work, you’re done.”

As artists, we look up to the pantheon of heroes who have gone before us. Prize winners. Gallery wall limpets. Best sellers. Icons of cool.

We wonder if we need to have the same tools. Perhaps a Moleskine, or a Mont Blanc. An original Les Paul or a Steinway. Leica or Hasselblad.

When we grow up, or at least reach the understanding some tools are too expensive for mere noob mortals, we try and ape technique.

Portraiture is based on trust.

Everyone who has every written about Mr Heisler mentions how he gains the trust of his subjects – forging a quick but mutually respectful relationship. To him, trust outweighs any equipment, because his photos depend on a connection with the person (not merely a talking meat puppet) he is engaged with.

That’s who I need to become in order to approach that level of work in my field. That’s character, not technique. You don’t learn character in an ‘Idiot’s Guide to Legendary Artistic Achievement.’

I am all for learning the basics – and certainly practicing till your fingers or your neighbour’s ears bleed. But art is not a mechanical achievement. The mechanics are necessary, but they don’t put words in your head, a song in your heart or an image in your eye.

You must learn the heart of those who have gone before you. You must partake of their motives, their emotion and their reason. This is why you must choose your inspirations carefully.

Better to choose Christopher Nolan (Inception) than Lloyd Kauffman (The Toxic Avenger).

When selecting a role model, look at who they are – because that’s the direction your life is headed for at least the next few months or years. It’s who they are, their character, that truly informs their art.

This means you are free to be inspired by many people outside the narrow confines of your niche or genre. You can revel in the creativity of a wide range of very original individuals – and you (and your speciality) will be richer for it.

You are what you eat – and you will consume your role models. You will forage the interwebs for every morsel from their mouths and every project they every let loose in the public domain.

When you are ready to learn from a master, take a good long look at who they are and ask yourself: would I put that in my mouth?

Deane Patterson is a portrait photographer and sometimes composer and filmmaker living in rural New Zealand.

Visit him at http://itellstories.co.nz/

Find his work on flickr and National Geographic Your Shot.