I’ve been dealing with quite a few computer problems over the last couple of days and with my Camp NaNoWriMo participation this month I haven’t been able to post as often as I would like. So here’s a couple microfictions in the meantime.
The hordes below the mountainside were as vast as a hill of ants. A cold sweat broke out on the sentry’s brow. His hand tightly held his sword for the comfort of its steel, as his fingers remained close to the trigger of the gun embedded in its hilt. The enemy was moving directly toward his village.
Scurrying backwards he moved silently, a figure quickly obscured by trees as he raced through the night to make his report.
He had found his lost show, along with the gold inside. The other guy hadn’t been so lucky.
Editing is a strange process.
This week I cut a story down from 9000 words to half its size. It was almost as if I was smashing in a work of pottery still on the wheel in order to build a better vessel with the same clay.
Now the story is a skeleton of what it was and it’s still a difficult story. I sense I will need a bit of feedback before I set about the difficulties of putting some of the flesh back onto it.
This week has been another key to my personal preparation for going through the novelette I wrote. One more step in a series that began two years ago.
In late 2015 and early 2016 I wrote a full length novel, tried to edit it, and then realized I needed more experience in this craft before tackling the revisions on this book, the first in a planned epic fantasy trilogy. So I went about trying out different ideas and tackling shorter length works in an effort to find my own voice and get a feel for what works as a writer.
I’m in a stage where I feel like my writing is as fluid as ocean waves. Some of my writing is razor focused and only needs a few edits on details while other pieces require a great deal more thought and change.
The trick has become learning how best to read those waves and channel the story through them.
I’m not writing this as someone who has figured it out yet. But I am posting this as someone who is beginning to see a way through the maelstrom that is editing.
The corner of the room was getting too packed for Regi’s tastes. He was watching the door, waiting for Selica. The room was unusually warm and the coffee more bitter than even those of the shops in Liran’s old town. He nearly jumped from his seat as a cup fell nearby. His nerves were tense, as they should be, not everyone survived planning a coup d’etat.
Selica was the key to the royal palace. His smooth talking would have to be at its finest on this “date”. If he could convince her to let him in, that would be all his plans needed.
The microfiction below is not my usually fare, however, the prompt generator gave me the challenge so I went with it.
It had to be under 50 words, be romantic, seasonal, contain “We can fix this”, and have an athlete in it. Total time spent was around 30 minutes from prompt generation to story completion:
“We can fix this.” The school’s star quarterback spoke gently, holding the girl’s violin in his hands as she slowly got up from the floor.
Her large brown eyes were still filled with tears, “But the Christmas concert is tonight.”
He held her close, “Then we’ll figure something out.”
(For prompt ideas check out The Story Shack Writing Prompts)
I have been challenging myself to write microfiction each weekend. The following is based on the one word prompt “chestnut” written and edited in about the span of an hour:
We’re standing in the middle of the wide open, rocky grazing land. The mesas rise like otherworldly sentinels in the distance and the brush covered land between is absolutely perfect. My partner, a beautiful chestnut mare, is standing just behind me to my right.
She started life as a wild mustang and was still pretty young when I got her at the auction. Mustangs are the best type of horse in my opinion, they still have instincts other horses have long lost in their domestication, even if their training can be long and intense.
She nudges my shoulder, the strong willed horse is ready for some water and fresh hay back at the ranch. I oblige with a grin and a quick rub of my hand on her velvety head as it sits on my shoulder. Of course, she doesn’t know why I make a point of coming out here but I know the land won’t always stay this way.
Even now I’m responding to queries from resort developers almost monthly. But for now, in this one small glorious moment of time, the land and I still have a bit of the wild running through our veins.
I saddle up and pat her neck, “Let’s go home.” Together, we ride off into the horizon.
The words of the forest were dimmer today. The young mage was unsure how to approach the ancient trees. The soldiers would be here at any time and the mage needed the words of power, now. She felt sweat bead on her forehead as the pounding of horse hooves began to echo closer. The inquisitors were likely behind their speed. She looked at the trees and then at the sky. “Please.”
She was not sure where the plea was directed, but moments later her body filled with warmth, like golden light filtering in through a storm.
I have been working on a few micro fiction pieces recently, spanning no more than a paragraph in length. This was my favorite from those I created this weekend. If you like it or have some suggestions, feel free to let me know:
The woman sat in the corner of the bar, watching the door as she tapped her fingers together. A picture of grim beauty as her dark hair fell in contrast to her sultry red dress. As the music blared the smell of cheap liquor overwhelmed her nostrils. It was a proper place for revenge she thought as the tips of her fingers sizzled with energy. The fire gathering between them was ready to be unleashed on her command. Her lover would soon emerge from the backroom with his new mistress, but this time she would be ready.