Archive for the 'Short Fiction' Category

Writing about hidden treasures

No Comments »22nd May, 2010; Category: Fiction, Short Fiction, Short Story Starters, Writer's block, Writing prompts

Some writers complain that although they want to write, they just don’t know what to write about. In another life (as a classroom teacher) I constantly heard this complaint.

I rarely have this problem. In fact, I usually have far too many things to write about. My problem is choosing which one to write about first.

There are hidden treasures lurking everywhere. You just have to open your eyes to see the possibilities for writing that can crowd in upon you every day.

Start with everyday objects and let your imagination soar:

Make a list of twenty (or 50 or…) objects in your bedroom. Now think about one object and how it came into your life. Change this to a really bizarre story. For example, the photo on the dresser is not your mother; it is the photo of a distant relative who was married to a famous explorer or an infamous mass murderer.
Describe three objects in the room where you are sitting now. Now pick just one of them and imagine you dug it up in the garden. How did it get into your garden, and how is it now influencing your life?
Look in the refrigerator. Take note of one thing and write about how it came to be there. Give it a life of its own, telling the story of it existence in its own voice.
Go outside and sit in the garden. Write about the one thing in your garden you really like (or absolutely detest). Write a conversation (or argument) between you and the object.
Walk to the nearest park with notebook and pencil. Describe one person you passed on the way. Note how they are dressed – and change their attire into something very usual, like a grandma wearing pirate clothing. Use you imagination and let her sit with you to tell her story.
Visit your nearest shopping center with a notebook and pen and find a seat. Pick out two people in the crowd. Try to imagine what they are saying. Give them new lives, new identities. Let them tell you their story.
Find an old magazine or newspaper and open it at random, picking out a photo at random. Use the photo as a starting point to your story. For example, if it is a photo of a young man advertising deodorant, imagine him doing something adventurous, or heroic or courageous. Bring the photo – and the subject – to life.

Story ideas are lurking everywhere; you just have to have eyes to see them.

Good writing.

Fun at my writers’ group

2 Comments »12th September, 2009; Category: Events, Fiction, Poetry, Short Fiction, Short Stories, The Writer's Life

On Thursday of this week I attended my monthly writers’ group in Adelaide. It’s one of two I regularly attend; the other is devoted to poetry only.

We usually gather for pizza at 6pm and then start into reading and critiquing each other’s work. The readings are based on a challenge set the month before. We limit the activity to 1000 words so that everyone gets a go at reading and having their work critiqued. A good attendance is about 6-8 people, but this week we had 12 eager participants, 7 of whom had risen to the challenge of writing a short story.

This was the fun part. The challenge we had appeared to be very hard, but we all found it very interesting. We were asked to take a poem written by a fellow student which was published in last year’s anthology. This poem had some interesting Nordic references and names, which made the task even more challenging.

The Challenge

The writing task was as follows:

Take the first word of the poem and use that as the first word of the first sentence of the story.
Take the second word of the poem and use that as the first word of the second sentence.
Take the third word of the poem and use this as the first word of the third sentence.
Follow this pattern until you get to the end of the story – or the poem – whichever comes first.

The variations were wonderful. Using the same words we came up with seven quite different stories. These included:

A recount of a classroom teacher grappling with unusual student names in the class.
A stream of consciousness account of someone justifying why she should murder her mother.
An account of the arrival home of a Viking raiding party.
An snippet from a Shakespearean like scene written almost completely in iambic rhythm (this was my effort).

Reader challenge

Try it for yourself as a writing challenge. Take a poem – any poem – and try it. Last year we used a Robert Frost poem. Use one of your own poems. Whatever. You could be pleasantly surprised at the result.

Have fun with your writing.

Good writing.

Short Fiction #39 “George”

No Comments »9th December, 2007; Category: Fiction, Short Fiction, Short Stories

George

George didn’t know why he was there. Or how he had got there. Well, actually he knew the method of getting there – several plane flights and then non-stop climbing for several weeks. Though it seemed like an eternity. The guides had said it was a trek. What an understatement. It was a trial, an endurance test, massive torture and very demanding.

If I had to guess it probably started several years ago. His best friend Kevin challenged him to go on this crazy trip. It had taken all his resources to get to this point; money, time, physical effort and mental capacity. Climbing a mountain in this country didn’t come cheaply. The essential equipment was heavy and they needed extra helpers to get all their stuff up the mountains.

Time had been the biggest expense. Nearly two years of special training took huge chucks out of his already tight schedule. Physically it had cost him about ten kilograms of weight, not that he minded that part of the preparation. Emotionally it had been a roller coaster. Gradually the days of doubt were outweighed by the days of eager anticipation.

George stood on the edge of a rocky outcrop. He was trying to catch his breath. The crisp, cold air made that just a little harder. The air felt super chilled against the sweat from all that physical exertion. He lingered a little longer than the others in his party.

“Is it worth it?” he muttered softly. He stared at the peak in front of him. He took in all the crags and rocky outcrops, the brilliant snow-covered peak, the deep shadows in the gullies and the azure sky above.

“Yes,” he answered to himself. “Yes, all that effort has been worth it.”

Short Fiction #38 Charlie

No Comments »13th August, 2007; Category: Fiction, Short Fiction, Short Stories

Charlie
Charlie stopped. He looked up, then ran to the window. Gloria had just driven into the driveway.
Charlie knew he had some explaining to do. He ran the door, waiting anxiously while Gloria rattled the keys into the lock.
“Hello Charlie. You’ve been a good boy then?”
Charlie skipped around her ankles. “Of course I’ve been good,” he thought. “I’m always good.” He thought of the thousands of times Gloria had told him how good he’d been.
Gloria dumped her shopping on the kitchen table and flopped into her favourite chair in the sun-room.
“Oh Charlie – what have you done? Look at my jig-saw puzzle? The pieces are all over the place, on the floor, under the table. Oh Charlie, can’t you leave my jig-saw alone?”
Charlie was perplexed. Why was Gloria so angry with him?
“But Kitty was sitting right on top of the coffee table,” thought Charlie. “I thought you’d be pleased that I chased Kitty away.”
Gloria ignored him. She was already busy fixing up her precious puzzle, gathering pieces from all over and struggling to get them back into place.
Charlie waddled over to his little bed by the heater, tail between his legs.

Short fiction: What a Day

No Comments »28th July, 2007; Category: Short Fiction

One day I had to stay indoors the whole day because it was raining cats and dogs. I was bored out of my brain. I started getting under Mum’s skin. I thought that she was going to blow her top.

‘Stop getting under my feet!’ she yelled. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather. Mum never yells at me. I’m so perfect.

So I went to my room to let off some steam. I picked up my favourite joke book. Soon I was laughing my head off. I laughed so much I soon had a frog in my throat.

Later that day my cousin Pete came over. He’s a real pain in the neck. Anyway, we decided to play a game of cards. I knew at once that this was a huge mistake. He started cheating and wanted to change the rules all the time. I couldn’t hold my tongue.

‘Hold your horses!’ I said. ‘Have you got rocks in your head? You can’t do that.’

Well, Pete was really burned up by my little outburst.

‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘Have you lost your marbles? Are you as nutty as a fruitcake? You are really getting in my hair.’

‘And you are driving me up the wall!’ I yelled back at him. ‘And now I’m starting to get a splitting headache!’

‘Don’t scream your head off at me!’ Pete screamed.

‘And don’t bite my head off!’ I shouted.

We stopped yelling as Mum came into the room. We knew that we had really blown it. I knew by the look on her face that we were in the doghouse. This made me feel down in the dumps. I was up to my neck in trouble.

‘Oh, well,’ I thought. ‘No use crying over spilt milk. I might as well face the music. I really am in a pickle.’ But Pete just spat the dummy. He swore at Mum!

‘You are grounded for two weeks,’ Mum said, pointing to me. ‘And Pete, you will not be allowed to visit for a month.’

‘Yes!’ I thought to myself. ‘A whole month without Pesky Pete. That was as easy as falling off a log.’

Copyright 2007 Trevor W. Hampel. All rights reserved.