“I don’t get it, Jonesy.” I kept my eyes on the people across the street. “Why would Old Chubs kick Mrs. P out? She’s lived here longer than anyone else.”
“Your dad said her sons won’t help her pay the rent since Mr. P died.”
“Ugh! Boys are so stupid and mean!”
“Really?” Jonesy asked.
I glared at him. “You don’t count. You know what I mean.”
Brown eyes stared at me.
“Besides, who is going to make us lemon squares now? Mom can’t make them. She pretty much sucks at those.” I thought for a moment. I thought so hard my brain hurt. “Wait! Maybe she could sell lemon squares and make money for rent.” I jumped up.
“Sit down, Becky,” Jonesy said. “It’s too late. They’re bringing her out now.”
I watched a policeman help Mrs. P down the steps. Chubs stood on the sidewalk, and looked up at the window of the apartment. The flowerbox was full and overflowing with purple and yellow somethings.
“I hate him,” I said.
“Hate’s one of the biggest little words there is.”
“Hush up, Jonesy.” I wasn’t in the mood to hear what was right and wrong. I knew people had to pay bills and stuff, I just hated that her sons were so stupid. Six sons and they couldn’t put in a little each to help her with bills? “She did all the nasty stuff for them when they were babies. They should do something.”
The door opened behind us. “Becky, it’s time for lunch.” I looked up at Mom. She glanced at Chubs and frowned. “Make sure to clean Jonesy’s feet off before he comes in and hang his leash up. You keep throwing it on the floor. He’s yours remember, so you have to do things right.” Mom closed the door.
I looked down and scratched Jonesy’s golden head. “You better take care of me when I get older, Jonesy or no more hotdogs for snacks when Mom isn’t looking.”
Jonesy licked my face. “Eww … Jonesy, I know where that tongues been!”
I had no idea how it got there but as I slid to a stop on the trail I could do nothing but stare at the giant M.
Looking around I made sure there were no cameramen lurking about ready to punk me as I bent over, hands on knees and sucked wind from my run. My first thought was college prank, but no university around had an M in it. But it was obviously the letter from a sign.
I stood upright and started walking around the mother of an M. That’s when I saw a tag taped on the side with an address. Would have been great if it had been a phone number, but there was nothing else to do but to phone a friend.
“Al,” I said.
“Sup?”
“Look up an address and give me the number for it,” I said and read the address to him. I stared at the letter with narrowed eyes as he gave me the information and then disconnected.
“You liar,” I said staring at it.
I dialed the number. “Walmart, this is Krista, how may I help you?”
Writing 101 has been a breath of fresh air and a cesspool of rank fumes. On the one hand I am renewing a lighter side of my writing at times and meeting different and amazing people, while on the other…I’m wading through things I don’t want to know again.
Looking at my work over this past week there have been some ups and downs. I do like the fact that I’m not afraid with different formats and topics. Everything is a learning experience and nothing is a failure as long as you take it and move on.
Free the Nipple? Hmm… This is an opinion piece giving my opinion of the Scout Willis publicity event recently, not her actions but the general topic itself.
I sat at the bus stop and laughter announced the arrival of Rod and Emerile. Rod nodded, I returned with a weak smile. He picked it up the meaning, glancing to my right.
The figure held the brim of a black fedora, twisting it out of shape. Rod elbowed Emerile. Both went silent staring up the street and into the sun as if looking for the bus.
Fingers squeezed into fists around the felt. They trembled as they settled upon his knees.
An occasional sigh was cut off by chocking sounds. Aftershave fought with the exhaust fumes of passing cars. He placed the fedora over his knee and took his left hand in his right, thumb touching the ring on his finger as if afraid it would break.
People became silent as they walked up to wait for the bus. The honking of horns began silent as if they knew. The hiss of airbrakes signaled the arrival of the bus. The man stood up and put on the crumpled brimmed fedora.
Rod and Emerile stood to one side as others did the same. The man nodded. The dark black suit climbed into the bus revealing a glimpse of navy blue socks.
Agents, writing coaches, and even the pros say “Kill your darlings.” It’s the truth. Kill ‘em. Every last lovely one.
Pause for the tears to fall.
Pause over.
I’ll tell you that I only learned about Flash Fiction a month or so ago, or actually learned that’s what a process was called, although I had been using it for years. You take a scene and break it down to its essentials in as few words as possible.
No extra adjectives
No extra adverbs
Tell the story in the dialogue what is happening
Do NOT get explanatory on the reader
They want the dialogue and to find out what’s going on. Yes, there are times when you have scenes with no dialogue. I’m going to give you an example of a scene without much dialogue, before and after cutting it down to the bare essentials. (I hope I didn’t copyright infringe there.)
Here is a romance scene that we’ll see if it can be cut down. I’m not a romance writer so don’t laugh too much. It is 216 words for a very brief scene.
The man looked across the shadowy room and gazed longingly at the silk covered form of what he had desired for so long. She had finally given in. After so many long and frustrating nights of games played and rejections he could tell that she wasn’t going to deny him this time.
He waited for her to come to him. The chasing had been his to do so far, now it was her turn. The moonlight shining through the window shimmered off the red form as she moved to him.
Her breathy voice was more than he had ever imagined it would be. Her red lips and whispered words tickled his ear in a way that he could feel it in his toes. A pain that was much longed for swept through his body.
“Why are you making me wait? You know I’m ready,” she said as her glossy nails slid down his chest, slowly finding their way.
He swallowed hard and slowly took a breath to gain control before speaking. “How do you know I’m rea…,” his voice was cut off.
“I know,” she said as the smile spread across her face. There was nothing more he could say. Silk slid under fingertips as the tender skin of her shoulder gave heat to his lips.
I don’t read romance novels, although I write them in my mind. So I don’t even know if I wrote that properly but it will give me something to go with.
The man looked across the room at the body he had desired for so long. After so many frustrating nights of games played and rejections he could tell that she wasn’t going to deny him this time.
The chasing had been his to do so far, now it was her turn to come to him. The moonlight shining through the window shimmered off red silk as she moved.
Her lips whispered words in his ear that sent a pain of longing sweeping down his body.
“Why are you making me wait? You know I’m ready,” she said, her nails sliding down his chest, slowly finding their way.
He slowly took a breath before speaking. “How do you know I’m rea…,” his voice was cut off.
“I know,” she said. She smiled.
Silk slid under fingertips as her skin burned his lips.
The word count for this scene is now 141 down from 216. I cut out a lot of unnecessary descriptions in the beginning that would be revealed along the way. I cut the description of the shadowy room, it was unimportant. I also left out the color of her lips. You tell me if the scene works now, just as well as before or better or worse.
Why all the cutting? To get to where the reader wanted to go while still giving the same mood and not wasting the readers time. Also I leave some things to the imagination of the reader. The physical descriptions of the two people are not given. This means they could be anyone and thus any woman or man can slip into the scene and imagine their fantasy lover.
I didn’t have many opportunities at dialogue tags in this scene but in heavy dialogue scenes you need to occasionally throw in a he said or she said just to keep the reader on track.
Keep the paragraphs short, even if not traditionally grammatically appropriate.
This is not an English class.
Pull the reader to the next part and make them want to moved onward.
If this had been some psychological court case type thing, maybe there would have been more interior monologue, or maybe not. I tend to like the faster paced ideas when there are two or more people involved. A one person scene can get as ‘thoughty’ as they want to be. (Yes, I made up one of my new words.)
Yes, I would have done more with this scene if I were really writing it, but this was just for an exercise.
Let me know what you thought of the scene. Did either scene work? Was one better than the other? Why?
If you’ve never written Flash Fiction then you are missing a great opportunity to learn what Literary Agents and Editors are looking for, ‘Show Don’t Tell’.
As writers we make a major mistake when we first begin writing, we look at word count and page numbers. I advise you to either turn off the word count on your program, or put something over it so you can’t see it. And also don’t format for page numbers to show. Just write.
Let the story tell the story. Your first draft is just that, a first draft, a blueprint to be build upon.
Sure the industry looks at word count often but it’s the story that sells. Writing Flash Fiction does something great for your skills. Write a scene as you normally would, then strip it down to under 600 words or 300 words. If you can do this and still convey…
If you’ve never written Flash Fiction then you are missing a great opportunity to learn what Literary Agents and Editors are looking for, ‘Show Don’t Tell’.
As writers we make a major mistake when we first begin writing, we look at word count and page numbers. I advise you to either turn off the word count on your program, or put something over it so you can’t see it. Also don’t format for page numbers to show. Just write.
Let the story tell the story. Your first draft is just that, a first draft, a blueprint to build upon.
Sure, the industry looks at word count often but it’s the story that sells. Writing Flash Fiction does something great for your skills. Write a scene as you normally would, then strip it down to under 600 words or 300 words. If you can do this and still convey everything the reader needs to know and feel, then you have accomplished your mission and saved your Agent/Editor and yourself a lot of work later on.
We think more is better but in reality, it’s what you say and not how much you say that matters. Choose your words wisely. Close your eyes and just begin to type what you see of the scene and then come back and work it.
The film crew didn’t really know what to do at that point as Rod finished. The crowd that had gathered was cheering and that seemed to give the crew a clue. They and their slum dressed star slipped away as the bus started to slow down. Rod was a hero. A hero in our small block of the town.
Rod and Emerile were laughing. Rod nodded, I returned with a weak smile. He picked it up quickly.
The figure next to me held the brim of a fedora slowly twisting it out of shape. Rod elbowed Emerile. Both went silent staring up the street as if looking for the bus.
Fingers squeezed into fists around the felt. They trembled as they settled upon his knees.
An occasional sigh was cut off by choking sounds. He placed the fedora snuggly over his knee and gently took his left hand in his right. His thumb barely touched the ring on his finger as if afraid it would break.
People became silent as they walked up. The hiss of airbrakes signaled the arrival of the bus. The man stood up and put on the crumpled brimmed fedora.
Rod and Emerile stood to one side and others did the same. The man nodded. The dark black suit climbed into the bus revealing a glimpse of navy blue socks.
Never drive in a big city. You’ll miss too many lessons learned.
Several cultures intersect at the bus stop outside my apartment building, making for interesting observations. Margaret and Martin are a perfect example. 50 years of marriage. There’s great wisdom in those years.
“Martin, I think we should get one.”
“Eh… I don’t think so.”
“But we need one.”
“No, no, we’re fine.”
“How can you say that?”
“Haven’t needed one so far.”
“So you say.” Margaret crossed her arms around her purse and stared at the cracked pavement in front of her. Martin sitting next to her stared into the distance, his lips mouthing words. “Three, two, one…”
“But dear, just think how much better off we would be. All the other girls are getting them. Why, even Phil is getting Florence one.” Margaret thought mentioning one of his buddies might help convince him.
“Phil’s an idiot.”
“Now is that any way to talk? Seriously, he is one of your best friends.”
“Every group needs an idiot in the bunch.”
“Hmph.”
Martin continued to stare straight ahead. He’d won the battle. A few months ago he’d told me that over the 50 plus years they’d been together he’d learned two secrets to a successful marriage. Know when to be quiet. And never smile when you argue with your spouse, and definitely not when you win.
Their bus arrived, they stood as the door stopped in front of them, Martin holding Margaret’s arm as she stepped onto the bus, and him following behind with their fare. I didn’t know what Margaret thought they needed, but I knew if it had been something special or needed Martin would have caved. Martin chose his battles. Lesson learned at the bus stop.
He half dragged himself across the street, shoulders sagging under the long coat. Two girls moved several steps away.
We exchanged nods and closed-mouthed smiles as he glanced my way. The bench shook slightly as he let himself drop. “It’s been a long day.” His voice sounded like it. “But we made it through.”
I nodded in agreement.
He saw the girls, phones out. One had a finger poised on her phone screen, the other talking to someone. They both kept glancing our way. He ran a hand over his head of short, tight curls. Nails perfectly trimmed, the skin smooth, smoother than mine even.
“You know what I need?”
I looked at him.
“I need me a woman. A young one.”
I could see the muscles around his mouth twitching. Looking forward, I could see the two girls out of the corner of my eye huddled together. I nodded my head in reply.
“Nothing like finding a young one. Sweeping them away. Training them up the way you want them.” He stared at the street.
The girls moved away. “Dr. Farra!” We both looked at the woman in floral printed scrubs racing across the street.
“Nancy?”
“Jerry is getting a taxi now. Get to the hospital. An elderly lady fell and hit her head and they called for you.”
Dr. Farra was no longer tired as he ran across the street.
The girls glanced at me and I smiled back. They turned away, ashamed at their thoughts. Shame can be a great lesson.
Rod took his place on the bench as the bus pulled away. “What was that all about?”
I shook my head with a half-smile in reply.
“I don’t know how he lives through that day after day, man.” He looked at me for agreement. I raised an eyebrow.
“What? That was crazy. She’d drive me off my rock, man.” Rod was a college student wanting to be a journalist. He liked to bounce his observations off me. I could see his wheels turning as he tried to look outside his world box.
“I guess he didn’t seem upset or anything, the patience of a saint. I would have blown.”
I nodded to acknowledge I was listening.
“Rod!” We looked up as Rod’s friend Emerile jogged across the street.
“Real Erile,” They did the handshake thing began that I never could master.
“How is it my friend?”
“Fantastic, just talking ‘bout two oldies going back and forth.”
“You were necking it again? Need to stop all that, going to get that elastic head joint of yours chopped listening where it don’t belong.” Emerile smiled.
“Man, I’m good.”
“What you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Good, we’re heading to Tippy’s.”
“Why?” Rod was tight with his money.
“Man, Tippy’s only sells one thing.”
“I know, but I’m good as is.”
“Serious? Man, their stuff makes everything else like 2001.” Emerile gets excited about things, talking with his entire body. Never stand next to him when he gets started.
“You get it then.”
“Go with me anyway. You ain’t got nothin’ else to do.”
“Man, I am the busiest man in town.” The bus pulled up. The doors closed behind them. Two lifelong friends going on about nothing. Didn’t matter what the age. Rod would never realize he was a back-and-forth guy himself.
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