Two Weeks Of Very Short Stories 2022-02-08 – 14
On Twitter I sometimes saw posts tagged #vss365 that contained a micro short story and I wondered for a long time, what this is all about. At some point I discovered that it is a daily writing prompt for a very short story that fits into one tweet.
Albeit I enjoyed the occasional very short story that washed up in my timeline, I always considered the participation to be something for writers who know about story telling and all that stuff.
. She was not keen on going back. The old trauma had faded, over the years, and forgiveness had brought relief as well as new perspective. She now was her own sovereign person. But she remembered well what she had turned away from and no desire to re-live any of it. .
I have already reported on the first week of Very Short Stories and the challenge of telling a whole story in 271 characters or less.
Meanwhile, I have become more practised at this. I have an idea, write a first draft – which in some cases is far too long – and then filter out the essential sentences that describe the plot.
I feel that this works quite well already.
. The river is bringing sea air to town, today. As a child she loved long walks by the beach on a breezy Autumn day, then stop in a tea room to warm up with a hot pot of East Frisian blend. Now, she's sitting in a mud puddle and what's left to her is to crave the ocean. .
Also, this week I made an excursion into the horror genre. Why I felt inspired to do so upon the prompt “lothario” is anyone’s guess…
In fact, I had to research the term “lothario“, because neither I nor my US husband Kim knew the word.
This is another fine side effect, by the way: I learn new words and remember both English and German words that I have not used for a long time.
. There came another lothario who could not resist the youth of her body and her innocent looks. Her irresistibility was like a magnet for this species of man. She despised these kinds of character. But their flesh made as good a meal as the flesh of any other man. .
. The ragged sailor stood by the wayside, watching the seasons go by. With the seasons, he saw others blossom for a Summer or two, then be gone forever. But he was a perennial, still here to see another flower, another season come and go. Bad weeds grow tall, after all. .
Overall, I think I have become a bit braver and have dared to tackle time intervals as well as different genres. Surely there is still a lot to learn, but I am happy about these first steps.
Even a parable has emerged, as you can see in the section above about the ragged sailor. I actually quite like wild chicory.
By the way, I did not consciously look for different genres to write. It is simply what emerged after I had read the prompt. It is interesting to discover all that.
. They say stones can be smoothed and polished by attrition. She, however, felt like she was being ground to dust. She knew better than giving up on manners, but it really was an overall situation that resembled a huge, steaming, very bad-smelling heap of animal faeces. .
These are difficult times and the feeling of having to fight for everything that does me good wears me down.
It is not always easy for me to keep the space free for creative pursuits. This is especially unfortunate because creativity and the more or less artistic expression of it balance, drive and nourish me. It is my elixir of life, so to speak.
At the same time, it is not at all about creating great art, but simply about expression in my own space and my own energy. I am only now slowly becoming aware that this is probably exactly what makes an artist. Hence my excursions into various creative campaigns.
. She remembered how she felt when she was thrust into this task: a surge of complete overwhelm. Now, she loved what she was doing. She'd grown into big shoes and didn't want to live any other way. That's why she needed to brace herself against the advancing adversaries. .
. "An artist cannot fail. It is a success to be one." -Charles Horton Cooley .
. She looked down and her body began to tremble. Staring back at her was a bottomless abyss. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. How she despised heights. Then, taking in one sharp breath, she jumped. In the darkness she could hear the beat of giant wings closing in. .
That’s it for this week. I hope you enjoyed following my wee endeavours as much as I did when creating them.
What inspires you? Do you sometimes go out and dare something new? Have you ever been surprised by what came from it?
Are you ready to shine a bright light of awareness on the path of beingness, today?
Much Love, Steffi