This week: Short Stories and Poems Edited by: Leger~  
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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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Short Stories and Poems
Yes, I'm going to talk about poems in the Short Story newsletter. Don't click! It won't be painful, I promise. For those that read this newsletter for help and information about short stories, I thought I'd mention the poem. Some people really don't read poetry. They were exposed at an early age to 'required reading' of epic poems and decided they disliked poetry forever. If you're one of those people, I'm going to ask you to give poetry another try.
Poems tell a story. They do! It's in a different manner, but there are similarities. They evoke emotion, they describe a scene or a person, they might even have a happy ending! Fictional prose is pretty standard and characters are generally not explored deeply in short stories. We fill in the blanks with our imagination and enjoy the story.
We do the same for poems, don't we? The difference is poems don't always follow grammatical rules, and words can be used for their sound versus simple purpose. Clearly, poetry is organized differently, but it still has a beginning and an end. The context is condensed, every word having a purpose. The reader might have to unpack the meaning and reread to get every detail from the work.
Harry  coined the term "storoem". His explanation in a blog entry , "My love for poetry sprang from my reading the poetry of Poe, Tennyson,and Frost, all of which are noted for rhyming poetry. Therefore, when I started writing poetry, I wrote rhyming verse, not getting into writing free-verse until later. (One valuable website for writing rhyming poetry that I discovered early-on is RhymeZone, where you can get suggestions for rhyming words to complete your endrhymes.)
Some poetry critics strongly believe all poetry should be short and concise, usually concentrating on one specific item. I have never thought this. Sometimes I like for my poems to tell a complete story. From when I initially started writing poetry, I would tell a more complete story, but in doing so I used various poetic techniques, such as stanzas (usually quatrains), end-rhymed lines, enjambment,alliteration, imagery, extended metaphor, etc. not usually found in prose.
My lines tended to be longer than most poems typically have,and I did not usually employ a set syllable count. The end result was that my poems resembled prose or narrative poems, I used more poetic techniques than one finds in a typical prose poem and they were longer, less purely poetic lines than a typical narrative poem.
Readers would ask me what I call my poetry. I started out calling my style a story-poem, and eventually I coined a new term “storoem” (stor- plus -oem)."
Grand idea, isn't it? Even if you are not a poet, give poetry a try. Perhaps you don't write poetry, but think about giving the storoem a try. And as always, Write On!
This month's question: Have you used poetry to tell a short story? Send in your answer below!  Editors love feedback!
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Excerpt: - I’m broken…I’m so broken…I can’t be fixed anymore…I don’t know when it happened…I don’t know how or why…The only thing I know is that I can’t go on like this…No...that's not true, I actually know why, but that doesn't matter anymore...This is the only way for me…
- No, it’s not!
MC grabbed Yoosung by the shoulders and shook him.
– Look at me…
No reaction from Yoosung.
- I said, look at me!
Excerpt: Normally, Charlie enjoyed a good storm. He remembered sitting on his grandmother’s back porch in California when he was a kid and being mesmerized by the lightning, then counting off Mississippis as he waited for inevitable thunder to estimate how far away it was. Those storms, like the ones here in Texas, usually only lasted overnight. This one was different though; this one had been going on for close to thirty-six hours, with no relief in sight.
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Excerpt: The man who had the power if he so chose, to disobey, and meet a young girl named Anne Frank and Margot in those horrible places. A young woman who during her time had written in a diary of the several years in hiding with her family, a young man named Peter Van Daam, his family and a man named Dussell. Who in a fit of betrayal by a thief had found them out when robbing the factory where they were staying, betraying them to the Nazis for his freedom and watched from the gathered crowd as they were taken away to the many camps of Germany. There each one would die horribly. Bergen Belsen Camp would be the last known place for Anne and Margot who died of starvation and Typhus.
Excerpt: Midas Mantok grinned at Vorran-7 from beneath a beetle brow. "I like a man with a tender heart, doc," he said. "Makes it easy to put the squeeze on him."
The scientist dodged the gangster's granite-like gaze. "But my wife and son are safe?" he asked, and glanced briefly at the bodyguard who loomed behind the most powerful crime boss on the planet.
"Until I give the word." Mantok rolled the sleeve back from his meaty forearm. "I'll want to run some tests before I tell my boys to let them go."
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Excerpt: Strange things happen to people in life. I didn’t think much about it at the time. I mean, it was only a dream. Work was the usual boring stuff it was every day. I reported into the plastics factory sharply at 6 AM, walked to my machine and prepared to take over from the night shift guy, Ben.
“Dude, you alright man? You look like hell.” Ben was a tall, black guy in his mid-fifties. He was a friendly fellow with a quick smile, and I suspected a heart of gold.
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Excerpt: “He’s old,” the littlest one whispered.
“Yeah. Some of the elders say he watched the birth of time.”
“Aw, no one’s seen the beginning of time. Those are silly stories told by stupid grownups huddling in the warmth of each other's flames shielded by the dark of night with nothing else to do but retell ancient tales.”
Excerpt: "Papa, tell me about the spacemen again."
Taketori no Okina glanced up from the stalk of bamboo he was sawing in half and looked to his daughter, Kaguya. The little girl sat on the side of their humble house, kicking her feet back and forth as she gazed up into the cloudless sky. Her father shook his head and answered, "Sure you aren't tired of that story yet? I must have told it to you a thousand times, and then a few more after that."
Excerpt: “Are you McCafferty?”
“Ye- yes, I am,” he said as he stepped closer to the man.
“Mr. Scaramucci said you were interested in hiring me for an insurance settlement consultation?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
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Excerpt: There dwelled within the dark and dank labyrinth of a nightmare, a spooky so terrifyingly scary, it sent screaming from an elderly woman her withered Christian soul. The victim of the deadly nocturnal assault was a seventy-seven-year-old woman named Edith Loudermilk.
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This month's question: Have you used poetry to tell a short story? Send in your answer below! Editors love feedback!
Last month's question: Where would you get rid of your incriminating evidence?
write719 sends: So easy to hide evidence, especially when we feel guilty of committing a sin. Getting rid of evidence is an admission of guilt. Far better to accept the truth about ourselves. No one is perfect. Once we realize that, we can be honest with ourselves and others.
BIG BAD WOLF is Howling  responds: I hear a good fire gets rid of most of the evidence - just remember to give yourself time to get away before the place goes up.
Quick-Quill  suggests: After scrugging all incriminating connection to myself, I'd douse it in bleach to start the degrading process, and bing some lime I'd have on hind from a previous purchase to a place deep in the woods far from any normal hiking trial and bury it deep. Now afte following the jake Patterson case in WI He must have watched a lot of crime stories. He shaved his body, washed and shaved his hair. Word a coverall (I think it was one of those white painter outfits you can buy at Home Depot. He had it covered. The polices were stumped. If Jaycee hadn't escaped she'd still be there.
dragonwoman  advises: Hummmm! in someone else's purse, briefcase, or car trunk. Or failing that, wrap it well and assuming you aren't blood soaked, go into a department store and hide it in a department with few people, tools would be good especially if it was an instrument like a tool.
StephBee  writes: How would I get rid of incriminating evidence? Put it in a trash bin? Maybe I'd burn it. Why not? 
GaelicQueen  brainstorms: Thanks for the chuckles. I'll never look at a rubber duck with a straight face again! What to do with my incriminating evidence...rent a truck with a fake id., drive the ice chest to a wooded location three states away, dig a deep hole, toss in the frozen materials, add fertilizer, plant a tree on top. Return the rental to another location. Walk away.
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Short Stories: May 01, 2019 Issue [#9522]
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