Tag: creative writing

Fiction Friday

It All Started With a Cough

Karen

“It started with a cough.

I don’t know where it came from but it was annoying, loud and croaky. I could control it at first, take a drink of water, suck on a throat lozenge, but I could feel it start to take hold in my lungs. It felt like a sea monster had a hold of my chest, it’s long, slimy tentacles wrapped around my body and slowly, slowly, squeezing the breath out of me.”

After about two days of this, my cough started to go away but I was having trouble taking a full breath and before long, I found myself panting like a dog just to try and fill my lungs and the simple act of walking across a room was too much and I had to sit down and recuperate before making another trek to the next room.”

I lost my sense of smell, taste, and I started feeling dizzy and disoriented, likely due to lack of oxygen. I had no idea what was happening to me but I’ve never experienced these types of symptoms before. I’m scared. I don’t know what sort of nasty cold this is but I feel different, I don’t feel myself. “

I know it sounds crazy, I feel crazy, but something, some darkness, is taking over my body. There are times I find myself doing something and not remembering how, or why, I’m doing it. There have been times I’ve been ACTIVELY trying to resist and yet, this darkness inside of me forces me to move my limbs and participate in simple activities against my will. My brain is screaming no, my body ignores me.”

That’s why I wanted to write this down. I don’t know where this is going, or why this is happening, but maybe someone will read this one day and learn from my experience. I know this sounds dramatic and I’ll probably laugh my fool head off when I read this back someday, but I feel like I’m dying. Not my body, my body doesn’t feel sick, but my mind, it’s slipping. I feel like I stepped off a cliff and I’m free falling, helplessly watching the world above me get smaller and smaller and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”

Am I dying? I don’t want to die. I want to live! I want to graduate from college, travel, fall in love, have babies – is that too much to ask? Why is this happening to me? I feel like I’m writing a suicide note and if you’re reading this, I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”

I’m tired. I don’t want to write anymore. I want to sleep and I want to wake up and feel better. But I’m scared to sleep, what if I don’t wake up? Please God, let me wake up.”

Detective Gomez lowered the note and looked at the young girl on the bed. She was small and so very thin. He guessed the girl hadn’t felt much like eating at the end and if whatever sickness she had hadn’t kill her, malnutrition would have.

“How long has she been dead, Kingsley?” Gomez said, carefully placing the note in an evidence bag.

Doctor Kingsley paused in his activities and glanced up. “I would say, judging by the rigidity, about an hour. But I can’t be sure, I need to …” he continued to rummage in his bag. “Damn it, I forgot something in my van, I’ll be right back. Don’t touch anything.”

Gomez raised a brow and watched the man shuffle out of the room.

“An hour?” he mumbled to himself as he circled the girl’s body. She was laying in the center of the bed, her legs pulled up toward her belly, her arms over her head. Her long, dark hair was splayed around her. Her face was hidden.

“What did you die from? Talk to me,” he continued to mumble while studying the girl’s clothes. And why was there dried flowers, or weeds, whatever they were, he wasn’t a horticulturist, lying next to her. Did she inhale something that killed her?

She was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, like something you would wear under a blazer, definitely something you would wear to work, and shorts. Did she get home from work and kick off her skirt or pants and change into shorts? Maybe go outside and pick the weeds?

Her skin was smooth, young, flawless. She couldn’t have been more than mid-twenties. The soles of her feet were slightly dirty as if she had indeed just come from outside.

He clasped his hands behind his back and stared at her. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he said quietly. He knew, if he stared at her body long enough, he would begin to pick up little things, little clues, as to what happened. He knew, from experience, that dead bodies spoke, you just had to pay attention.

Continue reading “It All Started With a Cough” →
Writing Mechanics

Brandon Sanderson: Writing Class – Introduction

Karen

I confess, I’ve never read any of Brandon Sanderson‘s work. That’s not to say, I wouldn’t be interested in reading any of his stuff, I just haven’t as of this post.

(Side note: After visiting Mr. Sanderson’s website I discovered that he offers some of his work for free. SWEET!)

However, when I saw he published his writing class lectures on YouTube, I was instantly intrigued. I’ve watched enough YouTube videos where people talk about his lecture series to want to watch them for myself.

The first one is an introduction:

And by introduction, it means he talks about the writing life. He talks about how he got started in writing and the number of years he toiled away before he was discovered and now he’s a best-selling author.

Every writer’s dream, am I right?

But he also said something really interesting – writing is what you make of it. For example, for me, writing is fun. I get satisfaction out of creating something out of nothing. I like my characters and I like putting them into various situations. I write because … I don’t know, I just feel like I NEED to, sometimes. Sure, I would love to be published at some point in my life but it’s not WHY I write. In fact, I would be, and perhaps I will someday, perfectly fine to post a serial story on my blog, just for kicks. I know other writers would be horrified at the thought of putting their work on the Internet because once you do that, it sort of  kills your chances of publishing it later. But I’m not really into writing with the goal of being published. Sure. I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that the thought of being published and actually making money from my work wouldn’t be a dream come true, but it’s not my sole goal. I just want to write because I enjoy it. And perhaps, other people will enjoy reading it.

Brandon also talks about the importance of making time for “real” life outside your work. Relationships, friendships, engaging with the world as a whole. Because doing that not only gives you fodder for stories, but it makes your writing more relatable.

He talks about being disciplined in your writing schedule and figuring out what works best for you. I really appreciated the fact that he talked about writing advice and how one author will suggest you try this and another author will tell you that doing this will be better, but ultimately, you have to figure out what works best for YOU. We are all different and we all approach writing from various points of view, from life experiences. There is no right or wrong way to write. I also really appreciated the fact that he said if you write, then you’re a writer. You don’t have to be published, and/or make money, to be a writer.

Nothing annoys me more than to watch writers stick their noses up in the air and claim that to truly be a writer, you must be A. B. C. I disagree. If you write, journal, whatever, you’re a writer. Because creating something out of nothing is HARD.

He also talked about leaving brain space for writing. This is my current problem. I work in healthcare and that takes up A LOT of brain space. I have very little space, and energy, to be creative when I get home from work. So often, I don’t write a lot during the week. I’m one of those weekend writers that he mentions in the class. That is when I have the most, time, energy, and brain space to write something.

I count what I do on this blog as writing. Again, writing these blog posts takes creative energy. I would like to write more fiction, and I will try and do that, but I feel like I need to clear my brain space first and to do that, I need to dump all of my other thoughts and ideas into blog posts first. Once I’ve done that, I feel refreshed and ready to invite my creative muse in for a visit.

I appreciated how he didn’t discourage new writers but at the same time expressed realistic expectations. You can’t become a writer if you don’t write. It’s fun to TALK about wanting to be a writer, but to actually sit down and write something, is a whole new ballgame.

Discovery and architect writing. Meaning – discovery = pantser and architect = outliner. I feel like I fall closer to being a discovery writer than an architect, though I’m not opposed to outlining … a bit.

And writing groups … I’d like to become part of a writing group at some point. I think that’s why I really like the Word Nerds because I think it would be fun to belong to a group of people that are friendly, supportive and helpful when critiquing my work. My problem is, I have no idea where to find that online. Any suggestions?

Even though Brandon doesn’t really get into the nitty-gritty of writing in this lecture, I think it’s important to hear, all the same. He talks about the importance of getting to know YOU, the writer, your habits and why experimenting with different ways to write will help you learn what works and what doesn’t work for you.

Brandon is more focused on science fiction and fantasy and though I don’t write these genres, I’m not opposed to trying them at some point. But his writing advice can be applied to whatever genre that interests you. I’m looking forward to watching more.

Did you learn anything from this lecture? If so, what? What type of writer are you: discovery, architect, or, somewhere in between?

Writing Stuff

Catching Creative Ideas

Karen

Drama is anticipation mingled with uncertainty. – William Archer

I’ve read 99 of 100 books so far this year. I’m almost to my goal. And the more I read, the more I’m convinced my own story ideas suck rocks.

Because the last few books I have read have been spectacular when it comes to surprising the reader with a twisted premise.

I’m currently working on trying to come up with a story idea that will do the same thing. These are the types of stories I like to read and I want to write a story like this.

I like to pride myself on being able to write from any prompt, but I’d like to come up with my own idea and truly write something organic.

The only problem is, I SUCK at ideas.

So what do I do? I turn to trusty YouTube and search for “coming up with plot ideas.”

And I watched this video. Mr. Herzog offers some great insights on how to generate ideas:

1. conceiving
2. developing
3. conveying

I need to train myself to be more observant and ask more questions. What if needs to be my mantra.

I’m not giving up on this writing gig, but I do need to learn patience.

Which I’m pretty sure is a trait I was NOT born with.

Fiction Fix

Fiction Fix: Gotta Run

Karen

friday-fix

You are walking home from work when something hits you from behind.

Tonya waved goodbye to her fellow co-workers and walked down the steps of the courthouse. She shifted her briefcase to her right hand and caught her purse from slipping off her shoulder at the last minute. She casually smiled at Tony, the janitor, as he made his way toward the building to begin his evening shift.

She drew in a long breathe of fresh air and slowly released it. It had been a long week but she felt like she had made a dent in her mountain of research. Her boss had an important case coming up and she wanted to make sure he had everything he needed in order to present his argument.

Transferring her briefcase into her left hand, she dipped her right hand into her front skirt pocket to make sure the keycard was still there.

It was.

She allowed herself a secret smile before tossing her long reddish, brown hair out of her eyes. The wind was brisk but smelled like honeysuckle. She loved the fresh air but her feet were beginning to hurt in her three inch heels and she wished, for the thousandth time, she would just bite the bullet and buy a car.

It was only 20 minutes to her condo, but today, it felt like she had been walking for three hours. “I should have packed my sneakers,” she mumbled absently to herself.

She listened to her heels clacking on the sidewalk and thought back to her day. She usually dressed a little more casually, slacks and flats, but Connor, her boss, was scheduled to work out of his office today and she wanted to make a good impression. There was just something about him … his dark blue eyes and dirty blonde hair were simply window dressing, she sensed there was so much more behind the curtain. He had vacationed at the beach last week and he was sporting a very attractive tan. But his appeal went much deeper than his looks, there was something dangerous about him. She was usually pretty good at reading people but she couldn’t quite put her finger on Connor.

She thought he liked her. She caught him watching her at times. And though they didn’t come right out and flirt with each other, there was an underlying current of sexual tension between them. At least, she hoped she wasn’t imaging the tension between them.

She tiptoed through a muddy patch, not wanting to dirty the heels of her shoes as she continued walking. What would it be like to date someone like Connor? she thought to herself. He was active, she knew that. He routinely went wake boarding with his buddies and his physique was evidence he liked to play sports. He was nice enough but always managed to maintain arm’s distance with women, like he was being careful how much of himself he allowed people to see.

Maybe he was gay?

She lightly shook her and chuckled at the thought. No way. She had caught him, more than once, checking out various females at work. Especially Sydney. Sydney liked to wear low cut tops and then conveniently drop things in front of men – she knew they would not be able to resist sneaking a peek at her generous boobs.

No, he wasn’t gay. Then what was it about him?

A car backfired and she jumped and immediately tensed. She stopped walking to gauge her surroundings. When she didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, she began walking again.

Her cell buzzed in her purse but she ignored it. It was probably her mother checking up on her. She was always worried about her, she thought she took risks, lived a dangerous lifestyle.

Tonya allowed another small smile at that thought. Her life wasn’t dangerous, it was … unpredictable.

She adjusted her purse on her shoulder then transferred her briefcase to her right hand again. She was almost home. Just another five minutes.

Without meaning to, her thoughts returned to Connor. Was he seeing anyone? She had never noticed any pictures of women in his office. He was always on his cell though but she was never able to get close enough to eavesdrop on his conversations to guess who he was speaking to. How could she get …?

She was suddenly knocked forward and she tripped a few steps, a small cry of surprise leaving her lips.

“Oh wow, I’m sorry,” a male voice rumbled into her right ear. “I totally wasn’t paying attention.”

Tonya righted herself and turned to look at the man. Her eyes widened in surprise and she could feel her cheeks flaming. Connor.

“Wha … what are you doing here?” she stammered.

“I thought I would go for a quick run, burn off some energy after work,” he replied and she noticed, for the first time, he was wearing a t-shirt, running shorts and Asics sneakers. Her eyes lingered on his muscled legs before lifting to meet his face. Her cheeks burned hotter.

“Oh well, I’m sorry,” she said.

He laughed while continuing to jog in place. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who ran into you.”

She let slip a sheepish laugh, “because I was in your way.”

“You could never be in my way, Tonya,” he said, his voice silky smooth. He jogged ahead a little, turned around to face her and continued to jog backwards. “You live around here?”

“I do,” she replied then nodded toward a brown house with tan trim. “Right over there, in fact.”

He followed her nod and turned back to smile at her. “That’s good to know,” he said. “I’ve got to run,” he winked at his little joke. “See you at the office.”

She acknowledged his joke with a bright smile. “Yeah, see you.”

He gave her a small salute, turned around and jogged away, placing his earbuds back into his ears.

She watched his butt for quite some time before snapping out of her thoughts. She again handed off her briefcase to her other hand and absently padded her skirt pocket. She would need to turn the card over this evening.

She suddenly stopped and dropped her briefcase. She stuffed her hand into her pocket and searched around.

No keycard.

Her expression hardened and she narrowed her eyes at Connor’s disappearing figure on the horizon.

“You son of a bitch,” she hissed.

She suddenly scooped up her briefcase, reached for her house keys and ran up her driveway.

Letting herself into her house, she sprinted up to her bedroom, quickly pulled off her office attire and put on a dark t-shirt, jogging pants and sneakers. She pulled her hair back into a sloppy ponytail. She dropped to the floor, pulled out a small, dark case and popped it open. She lifted her 9 mm Glock pistol out and screwed on the silencer. She strapped the gun around her waist, jerked her t-shirt down to hide the gun and ran downstairs. She grabbed her cell phone and hit 5 for the speed dial number.

“Go,” the low voice answered.

“The keycard has been taken, I’m going after the guy,” Tonya crisply barked out. “Locate me and send backup.” She punched the number to disconnect, slipped the phone into her pocket and sprinted out the door after Connor.

Hey, if you guys want to play along, feel free. You can grab that graphic up there and leave a link to your story in the comments below. I would love to see what you do with the prompt. I plan on doing a prompt every Friday to give me a chance to exercise my creativity.

Happy writing!