Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts

Friday, 24 June 2011

Why I'm no Longer Writing Short Stories

In my blog bio and my twitter bio for that matter, I have the information that I write short stories.

I have had a couple of short stories published and have been listed in the Brighton Cow short story competition. I was thrilled with this. What writer wouldn't be? To do a piece of work that is loved and have someone validate it in such a way. I know many writers who have taken the love of the short story and done really well with it. They have multiple pieces published and been listed or won writing competitions. It really is a great feeling.

I however, have stopped writing short stories for now. My dream from childhood has been to write a novel. As a full time worker in a day job with two children I just don't have the time to work on my novel and write short stories as well. I had to make a decision. I have taken the decision that I will focus on my novel.



I'm not snubbing the short story or it's writers. I love short stories. In fact I really love flash fiction. Pushing the ability to tell a story in so few words. I love a good short story. You get a quick fix with the ending so close, but I'm now in for the long haul and my nose is to the grindstone of the novel length story.

I have a dream to write and have published, a series of crime novels with a female protagonist. What I'm working on at the moment is my first step towards that dream. I intend to work hard at it which is why the time I have for writing, has to be given solely to the novel.

Maybe I should change my biography. Not completely. I'm proud of my short story work, but I think I just need to alter it a little to show my main focus as aspiring crime writer novelist.

Monday, 1 November 2010

First Short Story Rejection

Remember me saying that I submitted my first short story to Take-a-Break? well, I've had my first rejection. I knew it would come. How many people get lucky with their first submission? I doubt many. I expected the rejection and thought I would be fine with it, after all, it's rejection from a distance, but it did still did hit a nerve. I loved my first story. After I submitted it, I asked a friend who writes, to read it. She critiqued it and from that I confirmed with myself that it would be rejected. I have since started editing it as think the idea I was trying to convey, is good, I just need to make the middle section less......dull.

I thought I would share the original version with you. The edited version now has huge chunks missing that I need to rewrite. This is my first ever short story, my first attempt. I like it (well I would, wouldn't I) but I do know where it falls down now, but I thought here would be a good place to keepsake it.

Memories.



The Arum lilies were beautiful. Stems, brightly green with stunningly, swirlingly, beautiful cream flowers. She loved the way they curled and the strength of the stems as she held them. A strand of ribbon binding the six lilies together. She clutched them tightly, breathing in deeply, allowing the floral scent and emotion to fill her senses.
Her eyes were closed.

It was her wedding day, every little girls dream. Her husband to be, by her side. It was her perfect day. Christie remembered the days in the run up to the wedding, visiting the small, family run cake store to check on the cake prior to delivery, three tiers, frosted to perfection and holding intricately made frosted lilies. She remembered trying on her dress to obsessive levels, watching how it flowed around her body as she danced in front of the mirror. The white bodice and capped sleeves, showing her tiny frame perfectly, whilst the drop of the silk from the bodice, swam around her slender legs, giving her the feel of a princess.

She had shopped for thank you gifts for her two bridesmaids, Sarah and Lucy. Christie and Sarah had been friends since the first day of infant school, at just five years of age, all pigtails and frilly socks. Both girls in awe of the large full time school and the new experience, latching on to each other in their mutual newness and fear of such a momentous occasion. Lucy had joined them a year later, moving to the area after her parents had split in a very acrimonious way and her mum had moved as far away from Lucy's father as she could. People often say that having a friendship of three is difficult to maintain, but Christie, Sarah and Lucy clicked, and true friendship held fast. The gifts were personal thank you's, not only for being a part of her big day, but for the years of treasured friendship. The trials and tribulations of teenagedom, where everything was a drama. Bad skin, boys and some fairly horrific fashion disasters. It had been a typical teenage roller coaster of a ride for the girls and one that bound their friendship even tighter together. The friendship bracelets were her tribute to them and all that they meant to her.

Now she also had Jonathan in her life. She noticed him when he started working in the large offices that were Peterman and son, conveyors. She noticed his tall frame, dark styled hair and endearing smile, the minute he walked through the large antique wooden framed double doors, into the open spaced office area. She figured he was out of her league. Not only was he incredibly handsome, but he was kind and gently spoken in any conversation. The day he asked to take her out, had been, at that point, one of the worst days of her career. He found her in Coffee-tup, the coffee shop on the corner of the block where they worked, her smudged mascara, giving her a look of the crazy, and her hair, having hands driven through it twenty times a minute had taken on a life of it's own. She was distraught after dropping the proverbial ball at work and having been hauled over the coals by her supervisor, and had promptly left for a strong sweet fix in her favourite place. This was where she was sat when Jonathan walked in. Christie hadn't noticed him enter as she had cocooned herself into the corner of the shop, as out of view as she could possibly be, sitting with her back to the rest of the shop in an effort to hide the demented panda look, which she was sure, was not the current look being shimmied down the London catwalks.

He had sat down quietly in front of her. He didn't even say anything, he sat and he looked and he waited. Bewildered, she gave an uncertain smile and at that, he quietly took her hand. The difficulties of the day forgotten and a place in her heart filled. From there, conversations, picnics, restaurants and days filled with laughter ensued, a journey to her place in front of the alter where she would give her life to this man. It couldn't be told in a dramatic way, her love was assuredly and definitive as time itself and she knew with all that she was, that it was consummate.

She could see the guests, the colours and smiles. The joy and emotion was tangible. It felt warm and sure, slowly caressing her as it enveloped and secured her. He was there beside her, everything, her world, her soul, her reason for being. She looked at her father, the man who gave her away, traditionally handing her to her husband, giving her new life.

She lifted and touched the flowers to her nose, taking a moment in the fragrance and feeling the heat of love. The softness of the petals caressing the tip of her nose. The sweet scent stirred something in her.

She opened her eyes.

Confusion welled up, a deep knot from her stomach, churning up into her chest, up welling, taking her very breath from within her. She held on to the strong stems, soaking up the scent into every pore of her being, she felt the gentle hands of Sarah and Lucy cupping her elbows and knew it was time to let go. With a breath taken from the depth of her soul, she looked down, deep into the dark hole in the earth opening up in front of her and opening her hands, released the beautiful cream Arum lilies, watching as they fell softly into the ground.


Thursday, 23 September 2010

Started writing

Well, I promised myself I would make a concious effort to start writing fiction this year, after many years of putting it off, writing one or two chapters and getting no further or just simply making my life far too busy to do it.

This time I decided that enough was enough, with all the issues going in on my household over recent months I need to do something for me as well.

Yes I do currently have the Open University to contend with, which is why I thought I would try my hand at writing short stories first, just to get some practice in, and also, generally write more, joining the ( I didn't know it existed!) blog community.

This week, though I should have been concentrating on a very rapidly looming Open University final assignment and when I mean final, it's the final assignment of nine months work and if I don't complete it, I fail. Not really an option, it just means I have to work really really hard at the last minute. Anyway, the point being, is that this week, I have written my first short story.

It started out as an idea scribbled down in a note pad, and then promoted to the ranks of my computer screen where I typed idea's, paragraphs and characters. I went a little off course and reigned it back in, edited it, read blogs giving advice, took notice, added things in and then today I was very nearly happy with what I had. I spoke about what I had been doing with two colleagues who were in the office with me at the end of the day.

I enthusiastically offered to send it them via email for their honest opinion and regretted the offer as soon as the words passed my lips as I knew that if they found it bland or just plain rubbish, then they would just be polite to me.

I heard the bleeps on the computers as the story arrived and watched as both female colleagues looked at their screens and started reading. Iris stated she would give critique if I really wanted her to, so I sat quietly yet fidgetly waiting. She finished first and said it was really good, all sentences and paragraphs in the correct tense and she really hadn't expected what was done and that it was really well woven in.

I then moved my attention to H as she read, and I waited. She stopped reading, looked up me and I saw she was crying! Oh my, words I had written had taken her into the story and she had cared so much she cried. She loved it. What a compliment!

Yes, as a first short story I fully expect it not to be made to publish level, but I need to do this, get plenty of rejections, learn my writing and my own style and keep going. I'm really serious this time. But honestly, it really did have me grinning like the proverbial cheshire cat when H cried.

I think I just started writing!