Out of the Way

Story A Day September went well. I achieved my goal of writing one story every weekday for a total of 22 stories. Of course, some stink like tortoise poop, while others have potential. 

 

But writing momentum came to a standstill in October. I could not get anything going. Everything I wrote came across blah, flat. I couldn't submit my work anywhere. Nothing I wrote was good enough. 

 

An entry for one of Janet Reid's flash fiction contests had me tearing my hair out (and since I have very short hair, this is a real problem.) I liked my idea but could not for the life of me get it to work. I finally said f@ck it (this is a tortoise friendly blog, people!) and wrote it – fast, sharp, without the usual protagonist and set-up, etc. It was good enough to submit. It didn’t win, but it made Ms. Reid's list of standout entries. Her comments gave me a creative boost and a sense of validation. 

 

Next project – I spent days on an idea I liked, but once written, turned into such a big yawn fest I put myself to sleep. So, again, I said f@ck it (which I really hope is not going to be my new mantra or I'll have to start covering the tortoises' ears.) The new story came together in a day, and off it went to a Crystal Lake Publishing contest. I'm pleased to announce it made the finals!  

 

Both times, I got out of my own way, but more importantly, I got out of the story's way. Sometimes I'm afraid to let the story "go there." To let a twisted protagonist rule. To let an inanimate object own the POV. To let the story roar over the page like a hurricane. To let it slither onto the scene, licking lines with a poisonous tongue. 

To let the story lead the way.

 

*****

 

Here's my entry from the No One Moves to NY for the Weather contest with Ms. Reid's comments at the end. A list of rules apply, like the 100 word limit and the inclusion of the following words: cold, blue, shiver, sox, fox. I hope you enjoy it!

 

She is his oxygen. His passion. His obsession. She just doesn't know it. Yet. 

He is the shiver down her spine. The shadow sliding behind her on the sidewalk. The sly fox slinking in the woods near her house. The presence she senses but does not see. 

He daydreams. His knife traces the cold blue roadmap of her veins. He licks the hot red river it leaves behind. 

She pays attention now. Looks over her shoulder. Watches out her window. 

He has gotten sloppy. She has gotten ready. 

He just doesn't know it. Yet. 

Utterly brilliant. It's not quite a story, but this is stunning writing. 

*****

Are you standing in your own way, with writing or something else? Or have you in the past? Any suggestions on how keep out of the way? 

September in Stories

My creativity is – finally! - creeping back into the light, showing itself cautiously, slowly, much like Larry did after his very first visit to the vet. 

 

Unfortunately, the results are less than stellar. Unlike a tortoise, my creativity cannot be coaxed out of its shell with basil. None of the stories I worked on are submission-worthy so I have to let various contests and open submission windows pass on by. Sure, I'm disappointed, but I'm also reminded of something incredibly important – 

 

"When you're writing, no matter how hard it is, 

you are more truly yourself than at any other time." 

(Julie Duffy)

 

YES! That's exactly how it felt. 

 

So, to keep up that momentum, I signed up for Story A Day September. (I participated in Story A Day May years ago and enjoyed the challenge.) All the information is at the Story A Day site, but the gist is to write a story every day in September. Now "every day" is open to interpretation, so I'm aiming for a story every day Monday through Friday for a total of 22 stories. The only strict rule is you have to FINISH the story. It doesn't have to be pretty, but it has to be done.  (Much like every art project I've ever undertaken.)

 

So, here's hoping for a September full of stories. Wish me luck!

 

*****

 

Any plans for September, writing or otherwise? What are you looking forward to this fall?

 

When Icy is a Compliment

It's no secret I've been in a bit of a creative slump lately. Blame it on the heat. Blame it on the second season of Netflix's GLOW being over. Blame it on Ben and Jerry. Blame it on the old guy on the next treadmill who runs faster than I ever will (unless I'm chasing Ben and Jerry.)

Whatever the case, I had to do something. So when literary agent Janet Reid ran another flash fiction contest recently, instead of whining to the tortoises - again! - that I have no business being a writer, I pulled on my Minion pajama pants and got going.

I wrote with no expectations. I wanted to experiment, to reach. I wanted to stretch and tone that flabby creative muscle.

My entry made the finals.

The always encouraging and supportive Reiders rooted for my work.

Ms. Reid blew me away with her comments about my story.

And . . . I won!

I'm not sure who's happier - me or the tortoises. (After all, I can - and do - whine a lot.)

*****

For the contest, we had a maximum limit of 100 words and had to include the following - city, lie, sam, hawke, woo hoo. If you'd like to read all the finalists, click here. My story and Ms. Reid's comments (in blue) are below. 

Deer Momma

I shouldn't open the door when your working, but Mister Sam
said it was an emrgenz. The city is full of flew bugs!

We're going someplace safe, sekret. He'll keep a hawk eye on
me until you come. He's a nabor, not a stranger so it's okay. And I scarred of bugs.

Missus Woo came, yelled NO GO! ALL LIES! Missus Woo hooked
her fingers into claws, scratched Mister Sam's face! They fighted until she fell down asleep.

Mister Sam screamed HURRY! so I am.

Don't be scarred, Momma. See you soon!

Your sun Marty

This made me gasp out loud.  The story is icy, but what elevates this is that it's written in a vernacular of sorts, but you still understand every word. That's not as easy as it looks.