Ooooh, I almost forgot the writing advice/inspiration of the day. This came from Harlan Coben, and I literally chant this every day to myself, because it's something I struggle with constantly in my quest for writing perfection.
"You can always fix crappy, horrible, awful pages. But you can never fix no pages."
True dat.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Flash Fiction Challenge: Random Song Title
I just discovered Chuck Wendig's fab website 'Terribleminds'. Apparently he presents some cool writing challenges from time to time, and I thought I'd give this one a go.
The challenge was to choose a random song title and use it to create a short piece of fiction. I had to cheat a little and use the second title that came up on my iTunes playlist, since the first one was an Indian hip-hop song with a title in Hindi, and I'm not sure I'm up to writing a story titled "Ashiquana Hai Dil". Especially since I haven't the slightest idea what it means. Thankfully, the next song generated was Second Chance by Shinedown.
Sooo, without further ado, here's my entry:
Second Chance
Anna stood staring at the pool, her thoughts lost in its blue depths. How long had she been standing here? Long enough for the neighbors to become concerned? Were they even now calling her husband, pitying her, wondering if she would ever recover from that horrible day in June. She could feel eyes on her, and whether they were real or imagined, they felt heavy, and bored into her like nettles.
The neighbors can go to hell, she thought. They had no idea what it was like to lose a child, to drag your beautiful, lifeless six-year-old from the water, to scream and beg and pray for some light to return to those lifeless eyes. No idea what it was like to bargain with God on a daily basis, please, I beg you, I'll do anything for a second chance, anything at all.
She was shaking violently, pressing the towel hard against her face, unable to look. She knew now that she was going insane, the death of her son had driven her insane and she would never be the same again.
The sweet voice was insistent, the small hand stroking her hair.
"Mama, we can be together. But this is what you have to do."
Then came the other voice, stronger, clearer, asking the unspeakable. A feeling of horror spread through her, and she felt ill. Slowly she pulled the towel down, and looked into those sweet brown eyes. Her heart swelled with joy and relief. Her baby.
"Caleb," she whispered, and took him in her arms. She closed her eyes, and gave her answer.
"Yes."
The challenge was to choose a random song title and use it to create a short piece of fiction. I had to cheat a little and use the second title that came up on my iTunes playlist, since the first one was an Indian hip-hop song with a title in Hindi, and I'm not sure I'm up to writing a story titled "Ashiquana Hai Dil". Especially since I haven't the slightest idea what it means. Thankfully, the next song generated was Second Chance by Shinedown.
Sooo, without further ado, here's my entry:
Second Chance
Anna stood staring at the pool, her thoughts lost in its blue depths. How long had she been standing here? Long enough for the neighbors to become concerned? Were they even now calling her husband, pitying her, wondering if she would ever recover from that horrible day in June. She could feel eyes on her, and whether they were real or imagined, they felt heavy, and bored into her like nettles.
The neighbors can go to hell, she thought. They had no idea what it was like to lose a child, to drag your beautiful, lifeless six-year-old from the water, to scream and beg and pray for some light to return to those lifeless eyes. No idea what it was like to bargain with God on a daily basis, please, I beg you, I'll do anything for a second chance, anything at all.
Blinded by tears, she stepped into the water, first to her knees, then her hips. The water was chilly, as it would be in early October, but she barely noticed. This was the monster that took her son from her, all around her, but she knew it was her fault, she had only looked away for a moment, just a brief moment, and everything in her world had changed forever. Why had they insisted on having a pool? Josh had wanted the pool, said it would be a great way for the family to spend time together, and now they had no family, no child, it was just her and Josh and she couldn't bear to look at him and see Caleb's brown eyes looking back at her and oh God why, why, why? She closed her own eyes, remembering Caleb's touch, his small arms around her neck, how he smelled, the feel of his silky hair against her cheek.
The water was up to her collarbone now, but it was something else that made her body shiver.
A voice, a whisper at first, then more insistent: What will you give? She spun around, scanning the deck, the yard, the surface of the water.
"Hello?" She whispered, feeling absurd. "Is anyone there?" After a brief moment, the voice came again: Second chances are expensive. Are you willing to pay such a cost?
Anna burst from the water, running for the towel draped on the patio chair. Was she losing her mind? Was God answering her? Surely God didn't make bargains, especially in matters of life and death. She looked around wildly, searching for the source of the mysterious voice but knowing she would find none. She backed against the pine fence, crying now, and slid down until she was seated on the concrete patio, shaking her head, covering her ears.
"I'm not crazy, I'm not. Go away, please, I don't hear you," she used the towel to cover her face, willing whatever was happening to stop. "Please, don't do this. I would do anything, but he's not coming back. My baby isn't coming back."
A small arm slipped around her neck, softly, and she felt warm breath in her ear as a small voice whispered, "Mama."
A voice, a whisper at first, then more insistent: What will you give? She spun around, scanning the deck, the yard, the surface of the water.
"Hello?" She whispered, feeling absurd. "Is anyone there?" After a brief moment, the voice came again: Second chances are expensive. Are you willing to pay such a cost?
Anna burst from the water, running for the towel draped on the patio chair. Was she losing her mind? Was God answering her? Surely God didn't make bargains, especially in matters of life and death. She looked around wildly, searching for the source of the mysterious voice but knowing she would find none. She backed against the pine fence, crying now, and slid down until she was seated on the concrete patio, shaking her head, covering her ears.
"I'm not crazy, I'm not. Go away, please, I don't hear you," she used the towel to cover her face, willing whatever was happening to stop. "Please, don't do this. I would do anything, but he's not coming back. My baby isn't coming back."
A small arm slipped around her neck, softly, and she felt warm breath in her ear as a small voice whispered, "Mama."
She was shaking violently, pressing the towel hard against her face, unable to look. She knew now that she was going insane, the death of her son had driven her insane and she would never be the same again.
The sweet voice was insistent, the small hand stroking her hair.
"Mama, we can be together. But this is what you have to do."
Then came the other voice, stronger, clearer, asking the unspeakable. A feeling of horror spread through her, and she felt ill. Slowly she pulled the towel down, and looked into those sweet brown eyes. Her heart swelled with joy and relief. Her baby.
"Caleb," she whispered, and took him in her arms. She closed her eyes, and gave her answer.
"Yes."
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
An Introduction
My name is Lisa. I started this blog with the intention of having a way to talk about the frustrations joys of being a writer. I'm currently at work on a novel, and although sometimes it writes itself and is the most exciting thing I can think of doing, other times it makes me want to hang myself in the nearest closet. I know many others are in the same boat, so come along with me...share your stories with me, enjoy some quotes and advice from published authors, and generally enjoy the ride. Why not?
It is sometimes said that a writer's worst enemy is procrastination. Is this blog my way of procrastinating? Avoiding work on my novel, and the short story that I'm working on simultaneously? Probably. But hey...at least I'm WRITING while procrastinating.
Writing inspiration for the day from Patrick Rothfuss:
It is sometimes said that a writer's worst enemy is procrastination. Is this blog my way of procrastinating? Avoiding work on my novel, and the short story that I'm working on simultaneously? Probably. But hey...at least I'm WRITING while procrastinating.
Writing inspiration for the day from Patrick Rothfuss:
via Wofford.edu
Um, yeah. Go.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)