  Short Stories
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The purpose of this newsletter is to help the Writing.com short story author hone their craft and improve their skills. Along with that I would like to inform, advocate, and create new, fresh ideas for the short story author. Write to me if you have an idea you would like presented.
This week's Short Story Editor
Leger~ |
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The Bermuda Triangle
The Bermuda Triangle is a triangle shaped section of the Atlantic ocean, its points being Florida, Bermuda, and Puerto Rico. It is reported that a number of aircraft and vessels have allegedly disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Most of them cannot be explained by equipment error, human error, natural disaster or piracy. Popular culture alludes the disappearances are due to paranormal activity. I like to say the same about objects in my teenager's room. Things go in and are never seen again.
The truth is, it is a heavily traveled shipping lane and a similar number of aircraft and vessels disappear in different parts of the ocean. The Bermuda Triangle gets the claim to fame. Many of these occurences are embellished or not corrected when the craft are found after an accident.
But the imagination of the writer adds to a thread of speculation and weaves a blanket of suspicious activity. Could a wild vortex suck a ship down? Would a compass on magnetic north become confused? Did a rogue wave pull down a vessel to the bottom? Perhaps a pilot fell asleep in a transcontinental flight and not react in time to an emergency.
Many story ideas come from a writer's thought of "what if?" Some small vision in your mind can become a whole scene, chapter or story if you stop and brainstorm "what if". Give yourself permission to daydream, to ponder and wonder. I hope you come up with something unique and exciting to write. If not, just toss it overboard. 
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#1663340 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: “Okay, I’ll admit it: I haven’t been a great Dad. How could I be? I didn’t even know I was a Dad until that damn lawyer called last week. I tell ya, when she called and told me Marnie was dead, I just about put the phone down, thinking she had the wrong number. ‘Marnie?’ I said. ‘I don’t know any Marnie. You must’ve called the wrong guy.’ But she didn’t give up, kept tellin’ me about this lady, until something she said sparked a fragment of a memory. Most of my memories from that time are fragments, if they exist at all.
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#1629915 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: " 'Allo?"
"I told you to keep your cat out of my garden."
" An' a Merry Christmas to you, an' all"
"Don't you get clever with me."
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#1663180 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: An empty opaque bottle slipped from the dangling fingers of the snoring drifter. He lay in the entry of a seldom used side door. The bark colored duffle supported his head while saliva created a wet spot near the zipper. A pathetic piece of cloth covered his midsection, leaving his legs to soak up the cold morning dew. The sleeves on his nylon jacket were a bit short; the hair of his forearm bristled out as if to ward off the elements.
Excerpt: Erica Mitchell patiently waited for Stanford Price to take her call. Stanford was a gossip columnist for Page Six and would be pleased to hear the scoop Erica was about to give him.
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#1586578 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: “Okay, here’s the thing, shall we do this sooner, or shall we do it later?” Nibu was at the podium speaking to everybody who thought they were important enough to be there, a criterion that exceeded the seating capacity of the amphitheatre.
Excerpt: Ms. Schwartz, a slight, white haired lady of 82 years, stood patiently in line when she broke away and toddled toward Hank. Hank watched her with great interest, as this was quite unusual for Ruth not to greet the pastor. She approached with a gleam in her eyes, like the wonderment of a child about to meet Santa.
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He never saw it coming. Now, close to death, he tries to teach his friend to say goodbye.
#1663919 by Elisabeth  |
Excerpt: They had come out of nowhere, seeming to melt out of the trees. The ruthless scouts attacked him without warning while he walked along a narrow forest trail. He fought off only a few of them. But, turning to retreat, he heard a heavy thud and saw the arrow suddenly appear in his abdomen.
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#1663402 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: The storm raged on with high, harsh winds and rain that pounded so hard it could break the windshield. The windshield wipers ran on high as he drove over the speed limit to catch up with the Black Escalade in front of him. It was the Target, and he never missed. Not once.
Excerpt: It was the summer of love. Endless days and nights of frolicking upon the white sandy beaches with bikini-clad women -- a bikini summer. Nothing but the ceaseless rolling sea singing its sacred song, as the radio blasted Don Henley’s, “The Boys of Summer.”
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This month's question: Have you ever taken a small idea and spun it into a story? What inspired you?
Last month's question: What great descriptive phrases have you written or read?
Doug Rainbow : I am proud of my opening line in "Glass Lovers" "The sun entered the sitting room like an owner who needed no permission." Not that that's a great description, per se, but because of its relation to the rest of the story. Later thieves -- uninvited guests -- break into the room. That contrasts nicely with the way the sun initially came into the room. Thanks for a helpful NL.
walpole72: I wrote in describing an early morning scene "Polished swords of splintered sunlight, pierced through the surrounding forest" I thought that gave a very descriptive view of the sun coming through the trees of the surrounding forest.
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Short Stories: April 14, 2010 Issue [#3672]
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