by Mayumi-H | Mar 16, 2013 | Short Stories, Songbirds
No new original fiction, this week. Instead, an older 100-word post I did on my own, for my Songbirds.
“Alternate Realities”
Armed with an arsenal of books, pamphlets, and websites, Larry thought himself ready for anything Katie might throw at him: from the logistics of gender possibilities and a tidy explanation of where babies come from, to gentle assurances that nothing or no one could ever usurp the love and devotion he and Sally felt for their soon-to-be elder child.
Throughout his entire rambling explanation, Katie sat quietly in his lap, until he paused, smiled, and asked, “Do you have any questions, about the new baby?”
To which his daughter thought, and blinked, and said, “Can I have a puppy, instead?”
By Sam, Photos8.com [CC-BY-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)]
I adore the relationship between parents Larry and Sally…but I also really enjoy examining the relationship between their girls, Katie and Billie. I think because the Nightingale family gives me an opportunity to reflect on and remember my own life, while still keeping a touch of fantastic silliness and adventure so integral to their universe.
I’ve been lax with picking up prompts these last few weeks. I think they must be designed more for writers who want to write but don’t necessarily have any larger projects on which they need to concentrate. But, I’ve got two Works in Progress which I want to complete/edit/perfect. I don’t necessarily feel bad neglecting the prompts to work on my larger projects, but I do want to keep some semblance of regularity to this blog.
So, for any of you out there looking for a writing challenge, below are a few good ones I follow. I’m sure there are more out there, too, if you just poke around a bit.
And, for those of you busy concentrating on your own long projects, here’s to a good wordy weekend!
by Mayumi-H | Mar 13, 2013 | Process
I hadn’t meant to kill her.
I certainly didn’t start out the day planning for it to happen. I didn’t even know it was happening, until I looked at what I’d wrought, and realized she was dead.
Somewhere deep down, though, I knew: it had to happen. I’d been waiting for it to happen.
That knowledge didn’t make it any easier to do. It didn’t make the squeeze of the trigger any less jerky, or the thunder of the shot any less loud. Or the pain I felt watching the once-bright light in her eyes go out any less acute.
One moment, she was there: fighting, struggling, strong. And the next, she simply…wasn’t. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t anything. She was just gone, like she’d never existed in the first.
I cried when I killed her. I honestly and truly did.
Sitting back, I had to stop. Everything. And let her have that one moment of my reflection. Because I hadn’t given her the chance to have anything else. Not the happiness she’d sought, or the love she’d desired. Not even the fleeting freedom for which she’d run and fought so hard.
I’d never killed anyone before. Not anyone who’d mattered. Flitting bystanders with no histories, random casualties of war: they didn’t make a difference. They had no stories.
This one, though. She’d had a story. A story I’d cut short, for a split-second of excitement. For the sake of mere plot.
“Acceptable losses,” I called her, the next day, after I’d had the time to reflect. A phrase to describe her and her ilk, the ones I’d left soulless and smoking along the way. Because in love and war, sacrifices must be made.
I knew it was for the best. I knew it had to be done.
But, I’d still cried.
I’ve been thinking about this topic ever since a recent blog post about what heroes can do, by Vanessa-Jane Chapman.
I’ve always thought death in stories should be warranted. Many of them are. They’re often valuable for completion of a story. But, when it came time to do the deed, myself, with one of my own…it got to me.
Let your story go where it needs to go, even if it’s someplace terrible. You may end up stronger for it. Or, you may end up realizing you’re not as nice a person as you’d always thought you were.
Death in your stories: how do you react?
by Mayumi-H | Mar 6, 2013 | Process
Writers’ Museum in Edinburgh. In Lady Stair’s House. Photo by Jeremy Keith.
Now, I’ve shared my stories with others before: friends, writing buddies, family (once in a while), even strangers. I don’t stress about feedback from any of those folks. They receive my stories as a chunk of text to absorb, and, for the most part, their feedback is a simple, “I liked it,” or “I didn’t.” We may go into slightly more detail than that, but it’s often conversational, with comments painted in pretty broad strokes.
A professional edit, though, picks a story apart scene by scene, line by line, word by word. That’s good. It helps a writer step outside the confines of their little self-imposed world, to have someone examine that world with a sharp, precise knife and cut where necessary. They may do a little triage, too, to keep the story pumping. I’d trust an editor – especially a good one, like I was lucky enough to get – to do that.
When I received the pages back and finished reading through all the comments, I wanted to scuttle back into my NaNo hole and tear the whole story apart again. Not because I was crushed or demoralized by those red marks. Because those red marks showed me there was something there. And I wanted to fight for it. I wanted to dig deeper into myself and that world and those characters, and make the story better. Because, with those fixes and suggestions, I knew it could be so.
I didn’t think I’d pick up that story again. It was a first draft, and first drafts always need work. But, when I crossed the NaNo finish line last year, I thought, Good enough. Now, I know how wrong I was. The best bit? The editor never came out and told me I could do better. It was everything between the lines: all the little ticks and tacks that – when I saw them – I knew were right.
In hindsight, I shouldn’t have worried. The editor’s feedback was great. Not to say it was all glowing praise, because it wasn’t that. Rather, it was observant, critical, and helpful, what a proper edit should be. And, just reading through the comments for that one scene made me realize the story wasn’t all it could be.
I wasn’t all I could be.
So, I decided to take the pages back and start over. Not from scratch, because I do like a lot of the story already. But the suggestions and observations are with me every time I start to play in that world again. And when I play in all my other worlds, too.
The story may never be great, or a bestseller, or even publishable. But I can make it better than it was before.
Better. Stronger. Faster. Dah-na-na-naa! Dah-na-na-na-na Na-na-na-naa!
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HofoK_QQxGc?rel=0]
What words of wisdom do you have for a hopeful aspirant? Got stories of your own to share? Want to trade? Let me know!
by Mayumi-H | Mar 2, 2013 | Fearless
I’ve had a long, tiring week of other people telling me what to do and how to do it, so I decided to make a fiction post strictly for myself. Luckily, Kellie Elmore’s Free Write Friday offered me a prompt that kept me from going completely off the rails. As it is, I’ve adhered only marginally to the confines of the prompt, which happens to be “Serendipity.”
Mature situations described below. Nothing graphic, but you should probably skip it if it’s not your cup of tea.
“Again, for the First Time”
Stehendes Liebespaar, Otto Mueller [public domain image]
The warmth and comfort of his embrace soothed – the easy rhythm of his gentle snoring even more so – but it was nearly tea, and her belly fluttered a bit at the idea of doing something nice for him. So, easing out from beneath his arm, she scooted to the side of the bed and clambered from the blankets, reaching for her clothes.She dressed with quiet speed, but, turning back toward the bed while straightening her dress, she paused, to drink in the sight of him.
Even tousled and dozing, he was fine, a blond, bronzed demigod built lean, long, smooth, and strong. Just the thought of touching him – of him touching her – made her blood pound once more.
Maybe he was wicked, as Sam had warned. But, she’d never shied from risk. And maybe he wasn’t as refined as the boys who used to try to ply her with their stylish clothes and fancy cars. But, they’d never made her come.
Her nerves tingled at the memory, not even an hour old. He’d done it once. He could do it again. And again, and again, and again…!
She closed her eyes, but not looking didn’t stop her from remembering: the smell of the sea in his hair, the taste of it on his lips, the fine scratch of grains against her naked skin where their bodies came together.
When she’d first set foot in this tiny, unassuming village, she’d never dreamed she’d be standing here, flushed and eager for the touch of a man so unlike her norm. She’d wanted only simplicity after watching Mum wither, a fresh start someplace new. Maybe a pleasant distraction, if one presented itself. But not this stirring, this bubbling, this tremendous burst of feeling in her heart that threatened to turn her small and vulnerable again. Next, she’d be telling this beautiful beast she loved him –
Her belly quivered anew, and she opened her eyes. Her cheeks burned as she looked at him again.
Love.
Pulling her lip between her teeth, she stifled a foolish, girlish giggle.
But first, tea.
Coming off the tips of my fingers, this little moment is unrefined and mostly stream of consciousness. But, isn’t that what free writing is supposed to be all about? If not good, at least unfettered? I hope so. Because I don’t even know what good writing looks like, from me, any more.
I’ve spent so long in Ross’s head, examining one of the story’s moments from Amber’s point of view was a treat. She’s girly and a-flutter and I don’t care that she’s not breaking stereotypes or carrying a banner for the feminist revolution. I like her the way she is. Maybe because she’s me, and I’m tired of the sisterhood getting up in my face for wearing dresses that cling and heels that make my calves pop and enjoying the sensation of my husband’s hands on me in a playful grope.
I should probably end with a question, as I’m supposed to do with a blog post, leading you to comment and engage. But I wrote this for me and I only posted it to keep to my schedule. So, instead, I’ll end with a hope: that you are well, free of the pressures of work and rules, and able to indulge unhindered – just a bit – in your own private universe, at least for a little while.
by Mayumi-H | Feb 27, 2013 | Process, Uncategorized
One of the great aspects of sharing our work on the Internet is the tremendous community of people available to see it. Many of these folks can provide valuable feedback, insight, and advice, and they do it for free.
But, just because something comes free doesn’t always make it good. Good critique comes with a price. Often, it’s a monetary price. Make no mistake: that monetary price is worth it, if you’re genuinely interested in getting sharp, honest critique of your work, especially with an eye toward eventual publishing. Not all of us are looking for that, though. Some of us just want to get some more in-depth feedback than, “This is great!” or, “Post more soon!”
For those of you just getting into the tricky business of giving free feedback, here are a few (hopefully helpful) tips.
El editor enmascarado! (public domain image)
- Check your ego at the door.
Whether critiquing someone else’s work or having your work critiqued by another, you must swallow your pride.
For the critic, ego-checking should be pretty easy to do. You’ve been asked to do a job, and your goal should be to complete it to the best of your ability. However, try to rein in any impulses to create a mini-You. Each artist has his own style and story, and trying to rewrite that to fit your own won’t help him become a better craftsman.
For the artist, ego-checking can be slightly more difficult, as our stories often feel like part of us. We’ve invested time, effort, sweat, and tears in them, and to hand them over to another person may induce fear and anxiety. But, whomever we trust with critique, we should listen with open ears to their feedback.
Read that last sentence again. Feedback. Listen. Trust. These are not given – or received – easily, which is why you should also remember point number 2…
- Critique unto others as you would like to be critiqued.
If the critique is genuine, there’s no reason to fear the red pen. Any artist who asks for your help will want you to point out what works and what doesn’t. Because learning where we make mistakes should make us more aware of them in the future, and help us hone our craft.
That being said, remember this is a person who has asked for your help. By nature, people are fragile things, artists often more times so.
When you strike with your red pen, do so honestly. But, be helpful, too. If it’s an error you’re marking, illustrate a corrected example. Issues with the plot, characterization, or pacing? Define them for the artist: let him know where you thought the story slowed down and how he might compensate for that. Tell her why you found the plot meandering and what she might consider changing to pick up the pace. If you don’t like a character but you’re supposed to do, tell the author what traits or scenes counteracted their intentions.
The Golden Rule applies to all interactions, though. Work your red pen as you’d want others to do to you. We all come from different walks of life, and we’ve all got different styles. Which brings me to point number 3…
- Assume nothing.
There’s an old saying that goes, When you assume, you make an “ass” out of “u” and “me”.
Avoid assuming anything before you go into a situation or story. Your artist probably comes from a different background from you, so her story will be different from any perceptions you may have at the outset. Which is why you should try to keep those perceptions under control.
Certain aspects of storytelling will hold true unilaterally, across the board: solid plot, good characterization, proper grammar and formatting. Beyond that, though, you need to let an artist find her own way.
Now, an author should do their own research into the subject about which they’re writing, at least to the point of it being reasonable. I wouldn’t expect someone to get a degree in astrophysics just to write a few lines of dialogue, after all. If something doesn’t seem right, mention it. But keep in mind the geographical, societal, even temporal boundaries of the author’s story. Coffee may be the most popular drink where you are, but if in the story it’s tea, then it’s tea. Live with it. If, on the other hand, the author mentions how Kansas is in South America, you need to correct that. An author looking for guidance will thank you for your attention…or, he’ll have an opportunity to explain his choice. Either way, you’re doing your job as a critic.
So far, I’ve been blessed to have readers who have been equally honest, straightforward, and supportive with their critique when I’ve asked for it. I hope you’ll be so blessed, too, either on the sharp end of the pen or not.
What are your tips for critiquing others’ work? Or, for having your own work ready for critique?
_-_ca1919.jpeg "Otto Mueller - Stehendes Liebespaar (klein) - ca1919")
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