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Essentials of a Short Story ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Quotes raped from a critique of Nathanial Hawthorn's Twice Told Tales by Edgar Allen Poe - 1837 Edgar Allen Poe, celebrated as one of the finest short fiction writers of all time, was also a literary critic. These are bits of his wisdom on writing short stories, gleaned from one of his critiques. "The true critic will but demand that that the (story's) design intended be accomplished, to the fullest extent, by the means most advantageously applicable…" -- Poe Poe's Prerequisites -- in a Nutshell: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To deliver fullest satisfaction, a short story should be structured: 1) To be read...

'Well, if my guess is right, I should be at the island of Loguetown in only three days,' Mardais Lemieux thought, laying down in her two person sail boat. As her boat bobbed lazily in the ocean, the woman let out a bored sigh. 'What to do....?' She asked herself, pulling her black wool Ram hat down over her eyes, as if to sleepMardais Lemieux was a tan-skinned woman with long, silky caramel hair falling almost down to her knees, and gentle eyes as red as crimson blood. She was a fit woman. Standing a little over 5'7”, Mardais had a trimmed elegant figure, not having even so much as an ounce of unneeded fat on her being. Tattooed on her lef...

Chapter XVA few days later, Mickey stood near the nurse's station in the hospital's mental ward. Over the last week Mortimer, according to Jason had improved, though there were still quite a few things he couldn't remember. "Ok, Mickey.", Jason called as he came back from another patient's room. "Well? What's the news? Anything I need to tell Minnie?", Mickey asked, a slight worry in his eyes. Slowly letting out a breath, Jason took a moment to think. "Well, he seems a little more aware of things now. So... I wanted to talk to you about maybe where we could take it from here." Nodding, Mickey sighed. "Ok, so what are you thinking?", he ask...

Winter."Damn it, damn it." You hissed under your breath, "Why does it exist, why!?" Your whisper turned into a shout of irritation. Your arms tucked in firmly under your arm pits, your body bracing against the bitterly cold winter you head out into the white snowy terrain, into the icing topped woods. You stumble through the white woods, shivering and rattling like a child's toy, muttering under your chaffed blue lips.Why were you out? Oh because your mother felt it would be good to get some fresh air. Just standing on the porch of your stone cottage in the middle of winter would have sufficed but no, you were shoved out the front door, wi...