Mar 11 2009
WWW: Keepin’ It Short
For those of you who have been intimidated by reminiscences about poetry, fear not, I am now moving into short stories. Short stories had many of their own lessons to teach me. And, ’cause it’s writing workshop Wednesday, I’m going to tell you about one of them today.
See, you’re not constrained by cadence and sound like you are in a poem and that gives you a great deal more freedom and flexibility. But you are still constrained by length. A short story can do many things: cause surprise, set a scene, breathe life into a character… and, ideally, tell a story. But it has to do so in a limited number of words.
There are lots of skills in short story writing and, when compared to novel writing, calls for completely different approaches. They usually do not have the same tone or pacing. But many of the skills you build for a short story can be useful in a novel, like the poetry skill, in judicious quantities, adding power or magic at the moment you need it.
So, today, the skill we’re looking for is setting the scene with brevity. In this case, the limit I’m imposing is a single sentence (not run-on) to bring a setting to life in a way a reader can identify with. I’m not saying describing every leaf in a huge treehouse or each shade of color in a kaleidoscope wallpaper, but providing the right details to let the reader fill in the rest.
Here are some examples:
It seemed he’d entered a hall of mirrors, except it was just an endless white hall with innumerable doors, identical, stretched out to infinity.
The light was soft as the surf at her feet, warm, red, tinting the white sand pink and adding a violet lustre to the blue ocean under the cloudless crimson sky.
It was an oasis, emerald, jade and sapphire, a jewel nestled unexpectedly in the endless gold of lifeless sand.
The air was so heavy and humid, it was like a being underwater and Terrence felt as though he were drowning in the heavy scents of the rain forest: jasmine, orchids, ferns, mold, fungus and, under it all, the scents of decay as he plodded through the thick green undergrowth under the endless twilight under the dense canopy.
Now, it’s your turn.
Oh, and don’t forget to vote on the poll.
It was the smell that lingered…. the mixture of old, dry and sour, old, wet ammonia, all masked with a hint of Lysol.
Leaving the noise and the sight of that place behind was easy. But the smells and the guilt persisted.
Only the cold air told him his eyes were open, and he groped through the pitch black, feeling along the damp walls with his fingers, until his hand rested on something different, something warmer, something which twitched under his hand, its warm fur vibrating with the growl emanating from within it.
Sorry. You know me and plot.
The hall was silent enough that every footstep became a clamor, lit only by dimly flickering red paper lanterns that brought the shadows to life, and the inset doors could just as well have been depthless caverns as polished ebony.
Beautiful imagery, ravyn. I had a wonderful sense of place and color there.
So you’re into Short stories? Maybe i’ve to try Short Science stories as well.
Yeah, the rocketscience thing is kind of-um-accidental. I’ve always wanted to write fiction (most of what I write is science fiction/fantasy/speculative), but I also felt eating was important. To date, eating has won, but I’ve really enjoyed my science and engineering experience so it’s all good.
“Today started out cold, wet, and unexpectedly with my sleeping and unaware daughter lying in her crib coddling her left arm as it rested there disconnected at the tiny, fragile elbow. Another trip to the ER was not in our plans, but together, for the sake of peace and physical alignment, we made the journey.”
Davida