I fear I’m wearing thin.
A little sheer.
A little gauzy.
Pardon me if I toss and tangle a bit in the breeze today.
I’ve weighted my shoes down, cling to anchors in my hands, but still I flutter.
So, excuse my writhing and I’ll excuse your pity, for neither are called for on such a sparkling day.
Ok, was that a splatter or just a spot? Whatever you’d like to call it, here’s a napkin, please wipe the spurt of creative juices off your tie and we’ll get on to the real business of this Sunday afternoon.
There has been some strong activity on the tote board, my friends. The Ticker to Madness for my 5k short story is now brightly flashing at…
Halfway done, this little tale of war and love is. Wow. I am truly exhausted. *chuckles tiredly*
And, yes, I did say war, but no worries. The Crimean War (i.e. my attempt to cram a War and Peace size epic into a five thousand word scrap of a story) is still being held off, despite scouts slipping into my camp now and then, whispering of international espionage, skeletons in the families’ wardrobes and other such mischievous (and thrilling) fare.
This is going to be a simple love story. That’s it. Boy meets boy and love happens. As simple as that. Cue the fat lady…
So why, oh why, have I spent the morning struggling with just how much I should push that wondrous writer’s tool called the Willing Suspension of Disbelief?
Two problems I’m having (please put these on your ever-expanding list of Chloe Stowe problems)…
1.) Love at first sight, I don’t buy. Lust at first sight? Absolutely. Longing at first sight? Yep, been there and done that. But the kind of love stories I like to write are built block by block, some tumbling madly from the skies, some placed masterfully on the pile… Not a lot of time for building strong castles in five thousand words, though. I’ve done it before, so I know I can do it again, but it pains me to cut these character’s love short.
2.) I like the extraordinary happening to the seemingly ordinary. Put two regular Joes in an extraordinary circumstance and the readers will see what the characters are really made of. It’s one of my favorite techniques and one I enjoy probably too much. So, I thought (in error, apparently) that doing this short story I’d be forced to cut down on the pizazz of a WTF moment. Wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong.
What have I done to address these problems, you may ask?
I’m cramming years and a big, honking military action into my little 5k of words. This puppy is going to be packed! And, surprisingly, I’m finding that in itself an interesting challenge.
Can I make it work?
I think so.
As long as a particularly strong puff of wind doesn’t blow my sheery ass away.
Update, as always, tonight…