Why Writers Should Flash

Flashing is a great way to tighten your writing, instead of having pages to set up your story, you only have a line or two. It's also a great way to feel more productive, a novel takes a long commitment, but with flash fiction, you can get several pieces quickly to the point 'the end'. I find it very challenging and have a lot of work to do before I can claim to master the flash. Luckily for me, Romantic Friday Writers provide plenty of challenges for flash writing. Why not give it a go? Click the picture to sign up to this challenge, your prompt - Being the Perfect Ex.

Unsure how to tackle Flash Fiction? Try these links for some tips:

Fiction Factor - Writing Flash Fiction

Matt Moore Writes - How to Write Flash Fiction

He’d stay if he knew.
‘I've got the photo album. You love looking at it, remember?’
No. She did not remember. Not the album or the woman holding it.

‘Here’s your favourite, you and Lilly.’

Lucy straightened. It was the photograph from the Autumn dance. Lucy was wearing her new tight skirt, just like Lilly. The girls had changed in the ladies room, Lilly warning Lucy, Keep your mouth shut, Mum’ll flip if she finds out. And there he was, dark hair combed back, thumbs in pockets, wild eyes daring the camera. Lucy ran a finger over the the figure in the picture.

‘Max.’

The woman turned the page.

Lucy peered at the next photograph. ‘Who?’

‘It’s you.’

‘I’m so… old.’

The woman laughed and gave her a hug. ‘That was your seventieth, everyone came, remember?’

Seventy? But last night her and Max… they fought. He left. 

‘Here’s one of the whole family.’ The woman pointed to a group of smiling strangers. 

‘Who’s this?’ Lucy poked at a face.

‘That’s your nephew, Sam.’

‘Who’s this?’

‘Ron, Lilly’s husband, and look there’s Lilly. Jess and Rachel are Sam’s kids. See, I’m there too, with Richard.’ 

Lucy's finger jabbed a pasty image with lifeless eyes and then waved it at the man with the matching face seated by her hospital bed. 
‘Him?’

The woman frowned. ‘Henry, remember?’

‘Where’s Max?’

The woman's shoulders dropped, she reached across and closed the album.

‘Did I tell him?’

‘Tell him what? Who is Max?’

Keep your mouth shut. Mum’ll flip if she finds out.

‘We had a fight. Lilly will know him.’

‘Lilly died last year, remember?’

Lilly’s gone?

Lost. Everyone she loved gone. A moment flittered over a lifetime.
Except... ‘Do I have a child?’

‘Yes! You do remember, don’t you?’

The woman’s dark eyes shone with pleasure, those same eyes… a name...

‘Gemma?’

Gemma hugged her. She was hers. A flash of memory, a wild-eyed girl, maybe four, in a muddy dress.

‘Gemma… your father...’

Gemma pulled back, her grin wide. ‘It’s okay Mum, Dad’s here too. He always comes to visit his sweetheart, don’t you Dad?’

The old man’s focus didn’t move towards them, but he nodded.

Henry? Max had known. They’d fought. He left.

Lilly’s warning. Yes, she’d just shut her mouth. She was Henry’s sweetheart.

I'm not at all sensitive when it comes to feedback, feel free to critique if the mood strikes you, I do listen... sometimes.

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12 Key Rules for Writing

Found this re-shared so much on Facebook, I have no idea of it's origin.

Check out rule 1. I've learned something about the writing process recently. I know we've all heard the saying, 'writers write' and we're told to just keep the hand moving across the page. But this is more. My writing workshops often sing the praises of free writing. 15 minutes every day. But what do I write about? And I'm told not to think, just write. 

What a waste of time, I have a novel to write, I can't be dithering away notes about my dreams and what I need to pick up for dinner. Honestly, for about the first week, that's what I came up with. Random nonsensical stuff that did not contribute to my fiction at all. But then I started noticing changes. Now when I free write (every day, like a good little author) I find new plot ideas for my story emerge, or a deeper understanding of a character's motivation. 

Practice writing and you'll become better at practicing.

Of course you need to actually work on your novel too, otherwise you'll only become better at practicing.

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Coincidence in Writing

I'm up in Brisbane this week, organising my move before I dash back down to Yass. One of the down sides of moving interstate is that I'll be leaving some good friends (and amazing students) behind. I've been kind of sad that we won't be catching up as much.

But this week there is a friend of mine from Yass visiting their relatives in Brisbane - so today we are catching up. This has me thinking about the luck of coincidence that we are both up here at the same time, and I thought I would share a post I did previously on the use of coincidence in fiction:

The Hand of Fate should not write stories.

Coincidence. It happens all the time, and never more than in stories. Many narratives depend on coincidence, but is it a good or bad device? Like most tools, if used well it can make a story move neatly towards the conclusion, but if abused it reeks of lazy writing.

A lot of mysteries and thrillers will include coincidence as a way of bringing a crime to light (but not usually to reveal the culprit). Steven King masterfully winds coincidence into his horror stories to give them a dark fateful theme. So how should you use coincidence?

Narratives are small worlds or micro-communities. We don't want a cast of thousands in our story, so we zoom into a portion of life. This makes coincidences more likely to take place. Here's some tips I picked up from my recent writing course with Sydney Writers Centre.

Bring it in early. Have your coincidence set things rolling. Your protagonist has a fight with her boss when she's fired, later that day, while walking her dog, she drops her mobile phone. Not a good day for her. She starts searching the bushes in the nearby park for said phone, and what does she find? The dead body of her ex-boss. Coincidence. Now your protagonist is a suspect and has good reason to try to solve the crime herself. See how coincidence has moved your plot along?

Coincidence shouldn't be used to solve crimes though, we want to think our amateur detective is using their wits, not luck. And please don't end your story with coincidence - most readers hate that! (including me) Okay, some like it, and some fateful endings have been successful.

Ending with a coincidence, or 'by the hand of God', has a name: Deux ex Machina. This is where a plot problem heads to such a point it seems unlikely to be solved, and then, by the hand of God, all is resolved by fate. 'The Postman Always Rings Twice', is an example where it seems the two lovers will get away with murder, until fate steps in. Although a successful film, this ending always makes me feel robbed of a proper resolution. Having said that, I did like the ending to the first 'Sherlock Holmes' movie, but at least Sherlock used his wits to solve the crime first.

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T is for Timelines and Thanks

T is for Timelines. The online editing course I'm taking, How to Review Your Novel, has gotten me to use my scene cards (a previous exercise of recording each scene on a separate index card) and note down the day and time the scene takes place. I'm including the start time and finish time.

The object of this exercise is to catch yourself up on parts where the story does not flow cohesively, but also to think about time of day for your descriptions and actions. Things are easy to find in the daylight and night time is best for sneaky characters.

What did I gain from this exercise? Once all my cards were laid out in time order, I saw ways to shorten the overall timeframe of the story, down from three weeks to just over one week. This provides my narrative a faster moving pace.

Another part of the exercise was to decide exactly what time of year this is all happening, which makes you think about scenery (snow or falling leaves?) and the temperature (bikinis or sweaters?). The full rewrite of Dog Show Detective starts next week!

T is also for Thanks and I have to thank some lovely bloggers for awards! I try to get to everyone's blog every couple of days, the A-Z blog challenge is fun, but when I get back to blogging every couple of days, I'll be able to keep up with leaving comments :-). The awards:

From Mason Canyon at Thoughts in Progress

From Niki at Wool n Nuts

This award is from Angie Paxton at Answering the What if

It was easy to work out who I should pass them onto, because I owe great thanks to my beautiful followers who have made the effort to also follow my daughters (8 & 12yrs. old)  book review blog at Paper Dolls. The girls are absolutely thrilled when they get new followers and a comment is like christmas for them. I appreciate the supportive enthusiasm you've shown (and always feel free to post a link in the comments here, if you know of a young person's blog we should visit), so I want each person to receive all three awards, THANK YOU to:

• Book Dreaming
• Answering the What If
• Writing in the Crosshairs
• Wool N Nuts
• Unedited
• The Watered Soul
• Neat Zine
• The Innocent Flower
• Head in the Clouds
• Dutch Hill News
• Literary Rambles

And, because I've seen the girls working hard to finish books and spend hours on each review, I'm also passing the awards onto Milly and Tilly at Paper Dolls - keep up the good work girls!

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It's Like... You Know.

Happy as...

 

Imagery is essential to good fiction writing and effective descriptions. As I re-read Dog Show Detective for the umpteenth time, I notice I have barely any similes or metaphors, they don't come naturally to me and when I do attempt them they are usually cliché (as above).

This week I needed to research ways to use similes and metaphors. Similes basically say something is like another whereas metaphors will describe the subject as being another thing.

Similes:

A simile compares your subject to anything you want to use to strengthen a descriptive point. For example, we could say Lucille Ball's hair was red, or (a line that was used in her TV show) like looking at a beautiful sunrise through bloodshot eyes.

You can also use simile to clarify the ambiguous or unfamiliar. An example used by Grammar Girl is "...a podcast is like a daily radio show that gets delivered to your iPod, instead of over the radio." Even if you were explaining this to an old lady who'd never heard of podcasts, she would probably understand.

Perhaps you're only trying to compare one or two aspects of your subjects such as the colour or speed, which is why you would opt for a simile over a metaphor.

For example I might make this simile:

Nanna was as white as the bleached hospital sheets she lay on. When I looked in her eyes I could see the life flickering weakly like the old fluorescent bulb above us, struggling not to go out forever.

Now if I tried to make it a metaphor:

Nanna was the bleached hospital sheets... what? She's flat and stiff and scratchy? You can fold her? The problem here is sheets provide other images and attributes. You could say Nanna's skin was snow, cold and white, it just needs the clarification on the end.

Metaphors:

Where possible, I like metaphors. Mainly because they are more direct than similes. They can also help you replace adjectives and adverbs.

The most common problem with metaphors is using clichés like it's raining cats and dogs or people drowning in each other's eyes. These overused metaphors rip me out of a story I'm reading because it's like seeing the strings on puppets, I can't be lost when my mind is adding 'blah blah bleh' after these clichés. They could be used effectively as dialogue for a character that would use a lot of trite expressions.

Another problem is when metaphors are mixed in a sentence or paragraph and provide conflicting or confusing comparisons.

For example: I could see by her expression she was a crazed dog with a chip on her shoulder. I tried to leave the shop but she drove at me like an angry bull. There are too many different images here that do not organically sit together well. The safest route is to keep metaphors simple, just one comparison for a passage, however, clever writers can continue with a metaphor and keep the flow cohesive. Take this example from English Essential (Mem Fox & Lyn Wilkinson): Writing is a bumpy road, full of obstacles, potholes and loose stones. ...If you can avoid these problem areas your writing stands a better chance of reaching its destination without being wrecked on the way.

So how do we master the extended metaphor?
In Manuscript Makeover, Elizabeth Lyon suggests:

• Use riff-writing (explained in an earlier post) to explore the connections that come naturally when you write without restriction.
• Look up your word in a dictionary and thesaurus to expand your 'language' on it.
• Consider your character from different angles, not just what you 'see'. Think about the geographical location, era, setting, and emotions. 

My plan will be to start a section in my writer's notebook for cool metaphors and similes. I'll copy down ones I find in other narratives that work well and try to add some of my own. If you want to build up a bank of metaphors/similes try doing some writing exercises finding metaphors for commonly used adjectives and adverbs. For example, find a metaphor/simile for fast, slow, happy, evil, white, black, red and whatever else you can think of.

Some other links for metaphors/similes:
Copyblogger
Writer's Community
Infoplease


 Finally, a big thanks to Shannon at Book Dreaming for passing on this award to me:

Now I apparently have to share 10 things that no one else knows. I'm afraid there is nothing I know that most people aren't already clued in on. But maybe these aren't well known:

1. I lied when I was 9 and pretended to my class that I was moving interstate. They threw me a going away party and it took about two weeks for them to find out I was lying. It was horrible and I ALWAYS try to tell the truth now.
2. 1950's movies are my favourite, everyone seemed so clean.
3. Chooks can sometimes produce chickens without a rooster. True.
4. Kenny Rogers IS cool. 
5. I can touch the tip of my nose with my tongue, a fact discovered in primary school during a 'whose got the longest tongue competition' held by the teacher (I can not remember WHY?).
6. I have stuck my hands in to separate fighting dogs at off-leash parks, no fear at all, but am terrified when clipping the fur off a Persian cat and it's tail starts wagging.
7. It always takes me about five goes to pronounce 'onomatopoeia' for my poetry classes.
8. I do not multi-task, I 'focus-task'.
9. I don't know how a car works, you magically turn a key and then it runs.
10. I generally suck at similes and metaphors

I gleefully pass this award onto:

Inkfever

and 

The Chocolate Chip Waffle (for being my most recent follower)

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Pens Down

Today is the last day of NaNoWriMo - The month of novel writing, where authors and would-be writers frantically try to complete a minimum 50,000 word novel in 30 days.

I planned to keep writing till the last day, even when I passed my 50k mark a week early. But when I found my story finished just over 60k, I felt a little flat. I still had several days to go but did not have the urge to write as frantically as I had been.

Why?

I think you need to take time to celebrate that feeling of being 'finished'. Of course there's gaps in the story that need filling, extra scenes you thought up later and a whole lotta editing to do. But I just wanted to sit on that sensation of finishing this book. I hadn't finished a whole novel before, although I'd started plenty.

Finished your NaNo novel - what now?

If you still have time to write, then write. I took one day off. This was not easy. For some reason my mind finds tormenting me a great lark, it kept suggesting writing ideas and scenes for the book that wouldn't come when I needed them earlier.

The next day I wrote a short story, in a genre and style that is completely different from my novel. The old 'change as good as a holiday' routine. The fast pace of NaNoWriMo can leave you feeling a little burnt out from writing this one novel, so why not start a notebook, forget the NaNo novel for the day and just jot down weird and crazy ideas for other stories instead.

Then what?

My tact on approaching what comes after NaNo will be two steps.

1. Leave it alone for two weeks.

I'm going to print my manuscript, save it in a million different places for safe-keeping and let my mind lose the attachment to each and every word. This is the only way I'll be able to approach editing.

I won't stop writing though, whether it's ideas, dialogues, blogs, working on other WIPs (I'll be writing up the final chapter to Dog Show Detective and starting that book's edits), the idea is to keep the imagination cogs oiled and moving.

2. Read, a lot.

Prior to November, I took on the task of reading books in the genre I wanted to write. This gave me a feel for the common language used and understood by the readers and writing devices used for the narratives. Time now to return to that task before I edit the book. My NaNo novel is YA fantasy, so I'm reading similar novels to look for the type of character arcs, the places where the narratives reach a climax and what stands out from each novel. I'll keep notes on this too.

For example.

The Book Thief - Markus Zusak: Tells a story set in Nazi Germany, but manages to find a new angle, the story is narrated by Death (whom we learn is a very sensitive being).

The Alchemyst - Michael Scott: (I'm now on the second book, The Magician), There are immortals, mythical creatures and magic. What stood out for me with this novel was the magical creatures were all from historical legends and mythology, some will seem familiar and some, I hope, will have the young readers jumping on the internet to research the stories surrounding these myths.

Malice - Chris Wooding: I haven't read this one just yet, but what excites me is that the narrative is about children being taken to another world that exists inside a comic book. The novel is a combination of text narrative and intermittent comic graphics. When students struggle with reading, English/Lit teachers can sometimes encourage them with graphic novels. There is however a gap then in getting students keen to move to text narratives, and easier text usually means a less mature plot. I would love to see more novels like this one to help move students gradually from experiencing success with graphic novels and moving onto text novels. There's a niche out there author/illustrators!

Magyk - Angie Sage: During November, when I wasn't writing, my eyes were usually too tired to read. So, I downloaded this book from iTunes. You can listen to books while driving, doing the dishes, hanging out the washing or walking the dog. I also downloaded some writing style books this way. This narrative's best feature was the action. It started early and kept at a fast moving pace.

My hint on audio books - listen to the sample, a good reading voice makes a difference, one Podio (podcast) book I'm listening to now features a guy who sounds like he's trying to sell me a set of steak knives).

I have also discovered Amazon Kindle for PC. How did I not know about this sooner?!

It's great. I download books straight to my PC.

Being in Australia and having books cost so much over here, this is fantastic, not only are the books cheaper, but I have no freight costs. So far I'm finding I prefer to read non-fiction online and still like a hardcopy book for reading fiction. But the application is free so give it a go!

Next:

I'm looking at a few books and sites for editing your story.

I'll let you know what I find and we can start slashing and rebuilding our novels!

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Life in a Teacup

The whistle reminded Dottie what she was supposed to be doing.

“Oh the kettle,” Dottie smoothed her floral apron and grabbed an old, but clean checked tea-towel to pick up the kettle handle.

“Here we go then,” Dottie poured boiling water over the tea in the good teapot with the roses on it. Dottie put the kettle back on the stove and it started to whistle again.
“Oh, I forgot to turn the stove top off again,” Dottie said as she turned off the gas flame.

Okay, what was she up to?

“Milk and sugar,” Dottie reminded herself. Today she also had a special ingredient for the teapot.

Dottie put the tea on the table, laid out with her best linen cloth and a vase of sweet peas from the garden, then added a plate of biscuits. They were store bought biscuits, the ones Dottie made earlier had burned because she forgot to set the timer to remind her to take them out.

“Sit down Dottie, stop fussing,” Elsie said, “I’m not the bloody Queen.”

“Oh, I must have mistaken you,” Dottie laughed as she sat down, “because you act so high and might.”

Dottie poured the tea, and as she did she remembered the secret ingredient she had included, then asked Elsie, “Milk?”

Elsie smiled and said, “You’ve been making me a cup of tea every week for over fifty years Dotti, yes milk and sugar”.

“I remembered the sugar, I already added it.”

“No you didn’t, silly, you’ve just poured the tea and added milk,” Dottie looked affectionately at her forgetful friend. The soft creased features of Dottie’s pale face did not conceal the pretty twenty year old woman that became Elsie’s best friend, despite all odds.

Dottie reached over and gently placed her hand on Elsie’s, “How are you feeling now hun? Did the doctor find a better medication for you?”

That was Dottie, couldn’t remember what she had done yesterday, or even five minutes ago, but always remembered when Elsie had a doctor’s appointment and how the latest lot of medications were affecting her. There was no one else. No children, no family and although decades ago she knew everyone in the street, so many people seem to come and go now, she only had Dottie.

“The last lot made my stomach hurt so much, so I guess these ones aren’t as bad, they do make me terribly dizzy though,” Elsie said.

“Those doctors today don’t know what they’re talking about, they should be able to give you something for the pain without making you feel sicker.”

“Well at least I won’t be taking them for much longer,” Elsie said.

“Why’s that?” Dottie asked, “Oh… you’re terrible Elsie, you shouldn’t joke about that.” But secretly Dottie knew Elsie’s pain would be over soon, sooner than even Elsie’s doctor could predict.

They ate their biscuits and talked about the people who used to live in town, they talked about the new people taking over the town.

Dottie worried; there was something she should tell Elsie, but what?

“Have you heard from Maree?” Elsie asked.

“I spoke to Maree, um, when was that? Well, Jack called at Christmas, gosh he must be twenty by now,” Dottie said.

“Mmm,” Elsie agreed, although she already knew that Dottie’s grandson was thirty-five and now had a child of his own. Elsie had monitored Dottie’s family since day one. She remembered not only when little Maree was born, almost here in the house because Morris had been away and Dottie hadn’t wanted to ask for help. Dottie had later admitted she thought Elsie didn’t like her. There weren’t many other houses around back then. Elsie had driven Dottie to the hospital just in time for Maree’s entrance.

When Morris had come back Maree was already two months old. Elsie had also been eagerly awaiting his return, but just like the first time he returned from being away, she was left disappointed.

Elsie had been an unusually beauty as a young woman and she fancied she would become an actress. Travel, she would definitely travel. When Morris proposed, she hated hurting him, she did love him, but she wanted more than Binalong had to offer. Elsie took off and headed for the city.

The laugh of it all was that she only lasted a couple of months and headed straight home. Too late. Morris had married a girl from Gunning and now they lived in the house next to Elsie and her father. Elsie despised Morris’ wife Dottie, she found her sickly sweet. But now here she was, fifty years later, loving Dottie more than any friend had loved another.

“Do you want me to drive you into to town tomorrow?”

“You shouldn’t drive at your age Elsie,” Dottie said, “Why town?”

“Your appointment,” Elsie reminded her.

“Oh.”

“I’ll pick you up in the morning?”

“For what?” Dottie asked.

“Your appointment!” Elsie insisted.

“What appointment?” Dottie asked.

“Oh Dottie, you’re a silly old thing, tomorrow is the first of the month, you always go to the doctors. Remember?” Elsie asked.

“Oh I’m not going anymore,” Dottie stated.

Elsie looked suspiciously at Dottie, her dementia wasn’t improving.

“Why don’t…” Elsie started.

“Oh I remember what I had to tell you!”

“What?”

“I just want to get something first,” Dottie said as she heaved herself out of the chair and stretched her legs before trying to set off on those wobbly knees. After a couple of minutes Dottie came back with a photo album that Elsie instantly recognised.

“I want to look at our pictures,” Dottie insisted as she carefully lowered her creaking bones back into her chair.

“Okay Dottie, lets look at the memories.”

They pulled their chairs together, the way they did when they were young women and they wanted to share a secret giggle. Dottie had a secret to share now, but not yet.

Many of the first pictures showed sepia image of a wild haired beauty and a pretty but timid woman, both with their arms flung happily around each other. Many other photos showed Dottie and baby Maree, some showed Elsie holding Maree, just as tenderly, just as lovingly as her mother did. The pictures of Morris. Morris standing between the two women holding Maree in his arms, he used to joke about being outnumbered by women. Morris, with his cheeky grin and strong arms. Dottie’s Morris in the pictures. But he had been Elsie’s.

When Elsie returned to find Morris married she had been determined to win him back. After all, he’d loved her first and he’d loved her best, she knew he did. Elsie went out of her way to make Dottie feel unwelcome and to make Morris want to get back into her arms. And she’d won. Temporarily.

The last time Morris left her sheets he promised he would send Dottie back to her parents and be Elsie’s again forever. Timing was not on their side. At dinner that night Dottie told Morris that she believed she might be pregnant. Morris didn’t know what to do. It was one thing to discard a wife, there would be enough backlash about that, but a child? He promised Elsie he would find a way to sort it out, he would go away for a while, there were jobs going up north cutting cane, and when he got back he would send Dottie away. Baby or no baby.

But while Morris was away in a sunnier state, Dottie would beg Elsie to keep her company, often inviting Elsie and her father over for dinner. Then Elsie’s father died. She felt so abandoned, so alone. Elsie’s misery went so deep she lay in bed and cried and cried. Dottie had been there, making cups of tea, wiping her eyes and even laying down beside her, holding her when she needed to be held.

When Elsie was feeling better she decided to pay Dottie a visit, to thank her for her kindness. If you’re going to steal someone’s husband it doesn’t mean you can’t be polite. It was not until after Dottie had made Elsie a cup of tea that Elsie noticed something was wrong. Dottie was in obvious pain. Finally she admitted her waters had broken, but she didn’t want to cause a fuss. That was Dottie. Elsie had run for her father’s truck and driven Dottie into the town hospital. She stayed and held Dottie’s hand even though the matron had wanted her to leave.

And there was Maree, little beautiful Maree. How could something so perfect come from such a horrific bloody ordeal? Elsie wasn’t the only one to fall in love with Maree, of course once Morris saw his little girl’s face he would never leave again.
Now Maree, her husband and children all lived in America and Morris had left them all one more time, he’d been gone twenty years and although Dottie often forgot her own birthday, she always remembered his and Elsie would give her a lift to the cemetery to visit him.

They closed the album. Both women had tears they were trying to deny on their cheeks.

“We were something weren’t we Dottie?”

“We sure were Elsie, no better friends existed,” Dottie replied.

“I know I won’t be around a lot longer Dottie and I’ll be sorry to leave you,” Elsie confessed, “but I have to admit I’m selfish. I’m glad I’m going before you Dottie, because I just couldn’t go through this whole dying thing without you.” There was no point pretending now, they were tears.

“I know Elsie. That’s what has worried me the most,” Dottie said, “everything’s leaving me Elsie, I forget where I am, what I’m doing. Sometime’s I forget Morris is gone, and then I remember and it hurts, it really hurts.”

“Oh Dottie…”

“I need to tell you this Elsie. I’m scared. Scared there will be nothing left of me, no one for me to forget or remember. I thought about this Elsie, I know I won’t be there for you when you need it if I wait. I … I won’t know you, when you need me most.” Dottie was now sharing her tears.

“Dottie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No it’s okay, I want to be there for you, and I want you there for me. That’s why I did it Elsie, I sorted it so that we can be together,” now Dottie was smiling through the tears.

“Dottie what do you mean? What did you do?”

“Poison.”

“Poison?” Elsie asked, now a little alarmed.

“It won’t be long now Elsie, I put it in our tea. We can go together and neither of us will be alone.” Dottie reached out and held Elsie’s hand.

“Dottie? What have you done?” Elsie pulled her hand away, “We’ve got to get to the hospital, how could you? You’ve finally gone crazy!” Elsie got up and headed for the door, she needed to get to her car.

Dottie stayed in her seat, head bowed, “I love you Elsie,” she said quietly as she heard the front door open and close.

Moments later Elsie was back and sat down silently next to Dottie. Maybe she was right. What was the point? They had lived almost their whole lives together, how could either of them go and leave the other. This was right. Elsie reached out and held Dottie’s hand, “I love you too, you silly old bag.”

They giggled.

They sat.

They waited.

Quite some time later, Elsie spoke up, “Dottie?”

“Yes?”

“You forgot to put the poison in didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Elsie smiled at Dottie, “Well, do you want another cuppa darl?”

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Long Thoughts on Short Stories

Hurray for deadlines!

Through the writing course, How to Think Sideways (see ink-fever for the link if you're interested, definitely recommended by me), I was this week required to come up with several inspirations for short stories. From those I had to pick three and let my muse suggest ideas. I was not allowed to practically structure the story or put demands on the story. I did however have to give myself a deadline and a word count. This was not my idea of fun.

In my previous post you will see the list I made of the story inspirations, some were ok, some were, well - what the heck would be the use of a time-travelling dog? Just flash from period to period barking at people?

My first choice was about the two old ladies. I sat myself down last night determined to just get a few more ideas for it. I was tired, and I'd forgotten that I work best when I'm tired. I guess I don't have the energy to hold down the muse.

The whole story flowed. I wrote for over an hour and ended up with a 2022 word story (my word count was 2000, so it was creepily close). Now it's a first draft and possibly rubbish, but I'm so proud that I did it!

Write when your tired, write when you really don't want to - you might be surprised at what comes out when you stop trying.

I'll edit the story in a couple of days and then post it here. Now my next assignment - The detective who solves a mystery before the client even leaves his office. Unless the client bought their butler with them, this could be tricky!

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Getting in the mood

I've noticed something about myself lately. I'm weird. I'm also pretty sure that won't come as a surprise to anyone who knows me (or reads me, or hears of me, or just spots me from across the road).

I've been off from teaching at my prac school this week because I am infectious with the dreaded H1N1. The first part of my week was wasted on recovering from a bad reaction to Tamiflu. Once I was functional again (well as functional as I'm ever gonna be), I finished up making costumes for the school play. Then I continued my mission to disinfect everything and everyone in my home. Now I have some time to sit down and write.

I've been looking forward to this time for days, I planned my day and placed it proudly in my 'to do' list. So, after ticking off all the other chores (some school tasks, planning, uni, etc), I took a nice hot bath and got into my 'writing' outfit. What? you don't have a writing outfit?

Sure, when I am in my trackies I can scribble a few pages of vague ideas, and when I am dressed for work I can usually outline and plan chapters well. But a nice pair of casual jeans or cords and a linen shirt is my 'look' that I have always associated with writing, and it helps (see I'm doing it now). By undertaking this ritual, I get myself to a place where I feel like a writer, this increases my confidence in my own ability (yes, of course I'm a writer - for goodness sakes look at my outfit!).

If you are feeling slack and just not 'into' the words at the moment, try it. Use your imagination section of your noodle and picture in your mind what you think a writer might look like. Maybe you need fake glasses? A pipe? A cardigan? A pink Barbara Cartland suit? A Jane Austin dress (especially suitable if you're writing a period comedy romance, and you're a guy)? Maybe slip into something sexy to write a steamy scene.

'The clothes maketh the man', an old proverb with various assumed origins, speaks a truth. It's not that you are what you wear, but that you can decide to become the image you cloak yourself in, even if it is just for a little while.

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Interupting Characters

Where do characters come from? Well, when a Mummy character and Daddy character love each other VERY much.... Not quite what I was thinking, but probably as good as a response as any I could come up with.

My plan was to write a mystery novel set in Australia in the 1930's. I have the plot, I have the characters and I started to write. That piece of work has now gone to the waiting room, because there was another character forming that needed to be written first. She was a tomboyish 11yr old redhead that lived in the 16th century and wanted to be a pirate.

I resisted, after all it was a period I knew little about. However this little girl was adamant. So I started researching and writing the story of The Pirate Girl. Very quickly other characters formed around her, such as the Duke that has become an outcast and knows nothing about sailing...or survival.

While working away at this story, another 11yr old girl asked to be written; this time a contemporary young 'preppy' girl who, along with her canine companion, enters dog shows and solve mysteries.

Both girls wanted attention and I loved them both equally. How could I choose between my characters? So I write both and sometimes when I work on one too long, I hear the other complaining (kids!).

I'm not sure why I am drawn to this age. Perhaps it is the in between time of leaving being a little girl behind but not into the teenage years yet. The place of what is left behind and what is to come.

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Don't wake me, I'm writing a novel.

My desk is cleared, I have my favorite pen (after testing many for weight and texture), a brand new notebook, kids out of the room and I decide to work on my novel. Nothing comes.

I can work on plot elements, story structure, research details, but the creative writing does not happen on demand. When my brain is active, alert and ready to go, this is the time I can observe and take inspiration, think of different angles and solve character problems. It's only when my brain is switched off, in that soft space between wake and sleep that the narrative starts to flow.

I hop into bed, longing to just pass out, but thinking I'll just jot down a few notes before I drift off; before too long my head drops down and I have that quick moment of not being here. When I shake my head to wake myself enough to put down the pen and turn off the lamp, I realise I have already written pages of narrative, it just seems to flow. I think the key here is I don't over think what I am writing. I don't put up my own mental obstacles to block the story from moving forward. I get out of the way of my characters. I just write.

Perhaps this is where the theory of keeping a journal of dreams comes from. There may be a few plot ideas pop up from a bizarre dream, but possibly it is where you allow those words to lead when you keep writing in that 'not quite back in reality' space.

So alert time is for planning (and blog writing) and those times I'm too tired to write are for, well, writing.

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No time to finish that novel?

As soon as I felt the craving to get back into finishing my children's novel The Pirate Girl (possible choice out of... well not many yet), I had to have a chuckle at myself.

Yes this is the time to pick up the writing craft, when I am approaching the last run of my Graduate Diploma in Education at Uni, undertaking Prac teaching experience for 5 weeks, making costumes for my kids' school plays and parades, grooming a dog for show that needs to have his hair stripped back regularly and generally taking care of the family. Yep, I definitely needed something to fill all those quiet times.

Of course once I looked like I was making progress with The Pirate Girl I also just had to start a new series of children's mystery books about a dog show detective.

In order to inspire me to keep writing I took on the online writing course How to Think Sideways (which so far is brilliant by the way), because obviously it would help me to find more time to write if I had yet another obligation to fulfill.

You know what? It did. For some reason my schedule does not run well on empty, but fill it up and give me deadlines, and I absolutely whizz through tasks and seem to think more clearly. I am once again filling my days up with my much loved 'To Do' list (categorised and sub-categorised) and my creative ideas are rushing in again. I fill every spare moment with words (thus at 3.30 am, with the wind whistling and my tin roof clanking and while I'm unable to sleep, I am writing this blog).

I guess it's like they say "If you want something done, give it to a busy person to do", so it would make sense that if you want to do something new, make it seem like you wouldn't possibly have time, then you'll do it!

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I've got that Tingling Feeling Again!

I've been writing for pleasure since I could make the shape of letters with a crayon. I grew to create short stories, poetry, experimental pieces, scripts, blogs (obviously) and more. It makes me smile then that every time I approach a new piece, task or genre, I feel like I am approaching writing for the first time - I'm embarking on something untouched and unknown.

I feel that way now. I've created plot outlines, characters and begun writing on my Pirate Girl trilogy and now I'm also beginning a story about a young girl who manages to solve mysteries while attending dog shows. I've been there before, what's the big deal?

This time it feels different. The first module of a writing course How to Think Sideways (go to the ink-fever page for the link and a discount) has arrived in my inbox and I'm just starting to read through it. This is exciting. This is not just a course, this is the course that will take me from scribbling down ideas and plots and stories to working on completing and publishing my novels for children.

I chose dog showing as the setting for my most recent project and a young junior handler as the character because my 11yr old daughter is embarking on this activity. Write about what you know - isn't that what they tell you?

You also have to write to propel the story, as dubious as it may sound my setting will host many mysteries. I also like quilting, but can't imagine that craft propelling any narrative, 'the two men boldly stood, ready for the battle about to take place. One of them would surely die. Sarah pulled out her Irish Chain patchwork quilt and with her size 10 needle threaded with the special waxy thread, she began to stitch. One tiny stitch, then another. It was thick fabric with wool lining so the needle did not slide through easily...' You can see why I don't write about quilting in my fiction, now if I was a sky-diver, well that would be a different matter!

One of the things that impressed me when reading up on the How to Think Sideways course, was the mention of listening to your muse. I've always imagined I would write for adults, and even started a crime novel aimed at that market. When I create my characters, they have different ideas, they start to place themselves. The Pirate Girl evolved from a picture book idea for young children, but Grace became stubborn and stomped her foot and said she wanted to be in a big girl's book. Once the fight scenes commenced and some poor sailors lost their lives, I knew she was right - never argue with red-head (I should have known better).

Now I am finding inspiration everywhere. By attending a Commedia dell'Arte (Italian comedy theatre) yesterday with drama students, I was struck with desire to visit Italy. The costumes and masks were so expressive and colourful. I've now decided my little dog show detective is going to travel the world attending famous dog shows and solving mysteries. I may have to travel to Italy for research - darn it.

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