A new opportunity to grow as a writer. For the next 10 weeks I am focusing on the short story and after the first reading I am already feeling liberated, challenged and terrified. It is empowering to read, learn and discover that while you have come a long way there is an even longer way to go.
Here is a glimpse into our book camp (This excerpt is from the book “From Where You Dream” by Robert Olen Butler)
The quote that starts the second chapter?
“All good novelists have bad memories” -Graham Greene
It is hard to explain what my desk job is but I can tell you that it revolves around customer service. Lately I have decided that each person I help has a secret story the world should know. These are not sick and twisted stories that should really remain hidden from the world, no my imagination runs in the opposite direction.
My latest fascination, his name will remain anonymous but his secret is destined to be shared. He is a man of means and importance, if you give him a moment he would be happy to tell you the many reasons why this is so. My friend, we shall call him Prince E has opulent taste, he reminds me of the man with the tiny giraffe and the golden remote control.
In fact I am quite certain if it was possible to own a tiny giraffe he would have two because one would not do. Sometime ago, I am not sure when it happened I discovered his secret….he has all of the hidden treasures of the world under his lock and key.
It seems that my destiny was sealed, a crusade of my own was coming…
TO BE CONTINUED
Walking down the path he happens to notice it out of the corner of his eye. He is in a hurry, he’s going to be late but he has to get a better look. A thousand little questions dance across his mind. What if? What if? What if?
Simple yet beautiful. A flicker from the wind makes them dance, a dance only they understand.
There is a story.
The shadow plays softly against the untouched snow, it is like the moon before it hides behind the clouds. It is like me standing on the path wondering what has happened to all these trees?
All photos on this post belong to this blog- LiteraryLandOfAlysia
People say that desperate times call for desperate measures. Desperate may not be the most appropriate word for the situation but it would garner the desired results.
The exact moment it happened could not be deciphered. All that he understood was the need to flee became more than a passing thought but a way of life.
Money as always was tight, he had only dollars to spare. Time was even tighter, he would be lucky to find minutes to spare.
If he didn’t get away he was certain the anxiety that racked his body would cripple him. Consequences be damned, he had to do this for him.
Ever so slowly he made his way across the room and grasped at his last resort. Flipping open the cover, his fingers slid across the page, his eyes adjusted to the text, minutes later his was gone.
I saw this on another blog the other day, I really can’t remember any of the details but the idea behind it caught my attention. The challenge was to try to tell a story in six words. At first it didn’t that difficult but it really challenged my thought process, sentence structure and my vocabulary.
Here are some of my attempts; they are good, bad and horrifying. 🙂
-The long walk ended in tears.
-All his children fought their history.
-Irrevocably damaged, indeterminate optimism, eternity achieved.
-I went to the store forever.
-The house of one hundred truths.
-My notebook knows all my secrets.
-Love, hallucinations and how it works.
-Fall into a drink forget nothing.
-She always danced to her beat.
-From below every conversation was heard.
What’s your best attempt?
When the sun begins its descent in the western sky, things begin the change. The further it disappears behind the Rocky Mountains the more active my imagination becomes. Days, months, even years have been spent in this same place. At night familiarity is useless.
The beauty of the mid-summer flowers gives way to the eery crackling of the branches in the wind. In the moment after sunset and before the lights click on the yard comes to life.
The gate is unlocked. Someone has to make the journey to secure it before we all venture into bed. It is only ten feet but something about it doesn’t seem right.
Step by step the pebbles push hard into my foot. My senses are at their peak. I see it out of the corner of my eye. A strange man is staring at me from behind the creeping vine.
A scream escapes me.
The Easter Island statue has not been moved in over 15 years and he gets me every time.