How to Write a Short Story 'I am the short story writer,' Announced Death, her blue eyes flashing, 'I work only within tragedy and romance, with the crows and the sinners, for they are easier to condemn. Short stories cannot be complicated, though they can be happy. I can unite lovers, and I can separate them. The story of life must be short, sweet, a few careful lines. It must swim with words like nuances, and nacreous, to add flair and a dash of intellectual salt to my inky soup. My characters, my playing pieces, will remain unnamed, so that I run no risk of growing attached and extending their ill-fated tale. Tears must fall in new and original ways. There cannot be any clichés in a short life, for that would be a waste, would it not? Words must be made to dance like music, and sentences have to possess the grace of lyrics, for that is the only way to truly capture a soul.'How to Write a Short Story in Short Stories More Like This
Life frowned, and adjusted his mortarboard of clouds, 'If that is the case, then I must be an author o
MehYeah, I'm a girl and I'm ugly. I'm fat and my hair is mousy. My nose is too big, my eyes are too small, my mouth is too clever. I can't fit into all the nice skirts, I always look terribly out of place at parties and festivals. If, one day, you were to venture into the school library I'll be the one sitting alone in the corner with the old battered notebook and chewed pen. Uh-huh, that's right I'm the one with no friends.Meh in Short Stories More Like This
However none of that gives any of you people the right to make fun of me. Just because I am different it doesn't mean you can punch, kick, push, or hurt me. Do you think I want to look like this? No, I don't. So please, don't squirt water at me as I walk down corridors. Don't force me to stand outside our form room in the rain because I'm not considered 'fit' enough to shelter inside with the rest of you. When I walk home from school I w
Is This About You?Today I will....Is This About You? in Free Verse More Like This
Take a bow, for everything I've ever done and
For everything I'll ever do.
Stop and stand for a while, just to
Forget all my regrets and
Remember all my mistakes.
Tomorrow I will...
Fly through the green grass as I
Run down hill and pretend to be a bird
Like I did when I was
Never thought about the little things and therefore
Never thought about the important things either.
Tasted blood on my lips, bitter and sore,
Like your words.
I'll hold you when you cry
And cradle each individual tear until it grows
And blossoms into laughter.
Tonight I will....
Sing lullabies to the moon and stars
Because all the mothers and fathers forget those little children,
Shining up there and
Today I will...
Paint the sky purple with my voice because
I am my own God and I
Life GlowsI think life should shimmer. It should bounce and gambol in the light of day.Life Glows in Short Stories More Like This
Only through sorry years spent in a sorry mind, yours has tarnished. It has blackened and crumbled, convincing you that you're not good enough. That you're not loved. But you are loved, and deep inside where the iridescence still remains you know that too.
Life should shimmer, and it would. Yet you insist on starving yourself, you insist on drawing harsh lines into your skin. Once, when we first met, you told me that nobody liked poetry. You told me that yours was rubbish. I beg to differ.
The first time you allowed me to read one of your poems I was moved to tears. In that moment I loved poetry. It was not rubbish.
And it proved to me that your life did shimmer. For that reason you must eat, you must stop hurting yourself. I know that your life is difficult. I know that when you sleep you are plagued my demons.
But just remember, in your darkest, most desperate hours, that life does not only sh
Isn't The World Great?"Look at him, walking down the corridor, have you heard the rumours...?"Isn't The World Great? in Short Stories More Like This
"Hell yeah. Creepy little bugger, isn't he? I bet he's perving on your arse right now."
"Shut your face, he's not."
"I'll put a tenner on it."
"Shut your fucking face before I shut it for you."
"Like to see you try. Ha. With a name like Marcus he was bound to be a fucking poofter, right?"
"Wait," A new voice, "Marc's gay!?"
"Oh, piss off Dave."
"Yeah Dave, get outta here."
"But... what's going on?"
"I'll tell you what's going on. We're going to make that kid's life a fucking misery."
"Is it true that Marc's committed suicide?"
"Shut up, Claire, look, his little sister's coming down the corridor...."
"Oh shit, Liz, she's been crying...."
"You don't fucking say, you dipshit. Of course she's been crying. According to Dave it was her who found the body."
"Just hanging there...?"
"Yeah, that's about it. Just hanging there."
"I know right?"
"Is it true.... what they say
TimeI eat children. Rotting their chubby young faces and breaking down innocence.Time in Short Stories More Like This
I pin birds to the ground. Forcing their free feathers to become one with the earth and ensnaring them forever within the moist soil.
I steal luck. Snatching it away just when you needed it most, and locking it somewhere where you will never reach it. Away, where no human dares to walk.
I kill stone. Breaking it and making it fly away into the air. Making it swim off down rivers and dissolving it faster than the eye can bear to watch.
I don't go tick. My voice is that of the knell. My touch is that of the rigid coffin pressing against your back. My taste is of worms' meat. My smell is that of desperation, because you cannot escape.
You've become trapped. Trapped by the grasping fingers of time.
Let's All WeepLet's all weep for brother sparrow, his body leaving such light imprint on the snow, the frost carefully dusting his narrow beak, the loveless wind ruffling lifeless feathers fooling the sad onlookers just for a second. Fooling them as for a fraction of a moment they mistake the movement for breathing.Let's All Weep in Short Stories More Like This
Let's all weep for brother sparrow as the princess does. The winter sunshine splinters through her lemony hair and lights each tear falling from her eyes with a fiery spark. But then as the minute droplet bursts against the snowy ground, the fire dies. And no one remembers. No one.
Beneath the icy surface of the frozen lake, cold fish glide in hopeless circles. Round and round and round again, as they weep for brother sparrow.
I Think That....I think that you're....I Think That.... in Free Verse More Like This
Really stupid when you're drunk,
In fact, you're really stupid when you're sober too.
I like the way you smile at me,
Even that evil grin that only ever tugs at your lips when
You're going to poke me
Or pinch me
Or tease me.
But to be honest I think that's all rather sweet of you.
I even like it when you cry because it proves that
A Writing Lesson'Do you love me?' She asked, fluttering her long eyelashes....A Writing Lesson in Short Stories More Like This
The teacher slammed his fist down on the table, 'No! That will not do, it's too cliché, too teenage. It won't grab my attention and it won't catch anyone else's.'
'Fine,' He picked up a pen, scratched out his first sentence, and wrote something else, 'That better?'
'Do you hate me?' She asked, fluttering her long eyelashes...
'Much better,' nodded the teacher, 'But how are you going to follow that?'
The student looked up at his teacher, sarcasm scratched into his expression, 'How about with 'Yes'?'
Rolling his eyes, Sir snorted, 'Am I wasted on you Thompson? Am I really? You need to follow with something fabulous, original, and unexpected,' He exhaled loudly, 'Not predictable drivel.'
'Okey-dokey,' and he picked up his pen again.
'Do you hate me?' She asked, fluttering her long eyelashes.
He turned slowly, and sm
The Paper Ghost Throwing down her pen in frustration, the Author cried, 'What is it you want?!'The Paper Ghost in Short Stories More Like This
The boy standing in the doorway wrung his hands in embarrassment, 'I want a story...'
Exhaling deeply, she studied him. Her gaze ran over his soft hair and the slight iridescence of his skin. She noted the odd way that the boy appeared to shimmer like a haze of heat. His eyes were deep and brown, and his lips played the tune of a nervous smile.
'I cannot give you a story,' She said brusquely, 'I am all out of stories! Look at me! I am hollow, I am gone, I am nothing! You want a story?' The Author paused whilst he nodded, 'Then go out and live! Breathe the air, god knows, I wish I had that sort of freedom. Draw pictures, play music, live your life! Drink the nacreous waters of freedom, break out of the words that chain your mind. I am a human, like you! I need time to myself too, and I cannot always be a source of your entertainment.'