Finally submitted my entry for the Bloody Scotland Short Story competition.
Having written, quite quickly, one version from the murderer's point of view I then wrote a second from the detective's. In third person. Then spent three weeks putting it into first person.
Then realised that the first version had the stronger voice.
And although I could go on editing forever, it really had reached a good point.
So, phew and fingers crossed until the middle of August.
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Monday, 14 July 2014
Friday, 2 May 2014
Blood from a stone
Having got, as I though, the first sentence of this crime story written, having added to it, much that was too wordy, and then pared it back, it still wasn't going especially far.
I tried playing 'fortunately ... unfortunately' with it (another idea from Emma Darwin) which helped quite a bit but, when I didn't know where I was going, could only be of limited value.
I did come up with some music - a relevant title which sort of drives things forward, provides an impetus, but everything remains somewhat tenuous, the ending uncertain. What I DO think though, is that this story will form a bridge between a series of prompt-written tales I wrote in 2011, for both 6S and T10 (now both died a death) under the heading of 'Shenanigans' and the third novel of a trilogy I have yet to write. As ever, it is the characters which tell me their tale; act out their story.
I tried playing 'fortunately ... unfortunately' with it (another idea from Emma Darwin) which helped quite a bit but, when I didn't know where I was going, could only be of limited value.
I did come up with some music - a relevant title which sort of drives things forward, provides an impetus, but everything remains somewhat tenuous, the ending uncertain. What I DO think though, is that this story will form a bridge between a series of prompt-written tales I wrote in 2011, for both 6S and T10 (now both died a death) under the heading of 'Shenanigans' and the third novel of a trilogy I have yet to write. As ever, it is the characters which tell me their tale; act out their story.
Sunday, 27 April 2014
Genesis of a story
I read of the Short Story Competition for Bloody Scotland's International Crime Writing Festival three days or so ago. Theme 'Escape'. Three thousand words.
Knew, if I was going (which I am) I really would have to enter.
'Escape' ... hmmm ... nothing sprung immediately to mind, except perhaps to remember that my next novel, third of a trilogy, has to tell Luke Darbyshere's story. But I'd already told myself I fancied trying something in first person. Owed it to myself to write something brand new.
I can, usually, do drabbles. Practise weekly hundred-word shorts which almost inevitably become serials, but I have always found longer stories daunting. And almost never write without a prompt or three. 'Escape' didn't quite do it, on its own.
I began one too-close-to-the-private bone which would turn into a rant if I wasn't careful. Abandoned that. Yesterday picked up Naomi Epel's 'Observation Deck' which was a Christmas present from one of my sons. Selected, not entirely randomly (i.e. discarding what I didn't fancy) three what I thought were prompt cards, before realising that they referred to chapters in the accompanying book.
These were 'change your point of view', which I'd already done, ‘find the music’ which I haven't yet done but will find useful when I need it (it's worked before) and finally, 'observe a ritual' which, although I know it'll be something the MC does, I don't have a clue about at the moment. I also decided to set the scene amidst something I do know something about, so as to better ground the 'voice'.
And this morning got up at 5 a.m. and wrote the first 255 words.
To be sat upon and let to ferment.
Knew, if I was going (which I am) I really would have to enter.
'Escape' ... hmmm ... nothing sprung immediately to mind, except perhaps to remember that my next novel, third of a trilogy, has to tell Luke Darbyshere's story. But I'd already told myself I fancied trying something in first person. Owed it to myself to write something brand new.
I can, usually, do drabbles. Practise weekly hundred-word shorts which almost inevitably become serials, but I have always found longer stories daunting. And almost never write without a prompt or three. 'Escape' didn't quite do it, on its own.
I began one too-close-to-the-private bone which would turn into a rant if I wasn't careful. Abandoned that. Yesterday picked up Naomi Epel's 'Observation Deck' which was a Christmas present from one of my sons. Selected, not entirely randomly (i.e. discarding what I didn't fancy) three what I thought were prompt cards, before realising that they referred to chapters in the accompanying book.
These were 'change your point of view', which I'd already done, ‘find the music’ which I haven't yet done but will find useful when I need it (it's worked before) and finally, 'observe a ritual' which, although I know it'll be something the MC does, I don't have a clue about at the moment. I also decided to set the scene amidst something I do know something about, so as to better ground the 'voice'.
And this morning got up at 5 a.m. and wrote the first 255 words.
To be sat upon and let to ferment.
Monday, 25 November 2013
Friday, 11 October 2013
Signs and portents to a new direction?
... or simply coincidences?
Yesterday I arrived early at the dentist. Top of the magazine pile was a Travel magazine, quickly browsed and only articles on places I'd recently been were perused. Next, one of those glossy aspirational ones, gorgeously scruffy, scumbled paint, sun-bleached wood, Suffolk farmhouse conversions. Just about the only thing that has me panting for riches. And dishonestly - where would I find the time?
So, I turned to a short story, read it, mildly enjoyed it, then was reminded - was forcibly dragged back to a childhood when such stories had formed part of my staple diet. My mother's magazines, and those of my aunt. And the neighbour's. The stories, the serials, the accompanying, usually water-colour, paintings that illustrated them (and those I do remember, wanting to emulate, believing that was what painting was for.)
I've known since I started writing, I almost never do stories. Briefly, as I followed the dental assistant into the surgery, I wondered why. Then the news of Alice Munro, who I had heard of but it hadn't registered that she wrote only short stories.
This morning the first line of a possible short story popped into my head. But possibly, if it grows enough, I could turn it into a novel.
Yesterday I arrived early at the dentist. Top of the magazine pile was a Travel magazine, quickly browsed and only articles on places I'd recently been were perused. Next, one of those glossy aspirational ones, gorgeously scruffy, scumbled paint, sun-bleached wood, Suffolk farmhouse conversions. Just about the only thing that has me panting for riches. And dishonestly - where would I find the time?
So, I turned to a short story, read it, mildly enjoyed it, then was reminded - was forcibly dragged back to a childhood when such stories had formed part of my staple diet. My mother's magazines, and those of my aunt. And the neighbour's. The stories, the serials, the accompanying, usually water-colour, paintings that illustrated them (and those I do remember, wanting to emulate, believing that was what painting was for.)
I've known since I started writing, I almost never do stories. Briefly, as I followed the dental assistant into the surgery, I wondered why. Then the news of Alice Munro, who I had heard of but it hadn't registered that she wrote only short stories.
This morning the first line of a possible short story popped into my head. But possibly, if it grows enough, I could turn it into a novel.
Monday, 5 November 2012
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