Hi Everyone,
Looking forward to a rest on Thursday? Here's a place for you to post your sketchy story outline. Follow the worksheet, "Short Story Basics" and let us know what kind of story you are proposing.
For a first story, think in terms of 500 to 1 000 words or so (one or two pages).
Take a look at this story by Hemingway titled, "A Very Short Story" It's in Word format and may give you a security warning in your browser. It's ok to open, I'm sure.
NEW: Try Six Word Short Stories for ideas and fun!
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17 comments:
I admit that I haven't gotten this one done guys and will be on my way to Victoria (Math conference!!) in the morning. I'll be back on Monday, so hoping one of you students can post an example in the meantime. Until then, enjoy the rain, then sun, then rain . . .
Wait a sec!
You didn't tell us that you're going to give us Hemingway's short story of only 700-words or so?
Or I'm just imagining it?
Awwwww...
I've left a link for the story on this post. Nope, you weren't imagining it. Sorry also for not always commenting in detail. Lotsa marking for the ELA 11 and 12s.
And, of course, I really appreciate when you jump in with a critique. Now, if others could join you more often on that side! It is more fun to write than to critique, but to be fair one should write one critique at least for every submission.
Thoughts on that anyone?
Here's the first draft, 589 words.
As you can see, I borrowed Hemingway's structure and relied on heavily.
On the hot evenings they drove his pickup to the riverbank just outside of the town. The air was still sultry, but the breeze was cool, calming down the day’s excitement. Candice took her sandals off and stretched out on the grass beside him while he smoked a cigarette or two. Sunset was like a golden flower hiding behind the mountains, but the best part was the night sky. Millions of stars shone above them. Sometimes they counted the stars, and other times they lay still without a word, holding their hands.
Candice’s affluent father did not approve their courtship or marriage, but in the end he gave in; they were utterly inseparable.
Their apartment was on the edge of the town, facing the mountains and sunset. It was small, but a bed and a couch were their only furniture. He swore that he would work hard, take a good care of her, and that they would someday move into a fine house as grand as the one she had been brought up in.
Candice cooked an over-easy for the first time and failed miserably; it was so hard to make egg yolk runny. That was okay, he said, it was a good try. On her next birthday he bought a big volume of cook book, which stayed beside the stacks of canned soups in a cupboard for the most of the time. Later she confessed that cooking was not her thing.
A baby girl had arrived, and she looked like a Gerber baby. She was a soft, sweet marshmallow and cried for milk and diapers. His job at a warehouse didn’t pay much, so he enrolled in night school, hoping to get a licence to be a realtor.
The market was booming. His office soon moved to Main Street, and ten staffs were on the payroll. He wore a tie and sit in a black swivel armchair, his phone always blinking with calls on hold. He did not mind long hours or open houses on weekends; he had a family to feed and bills to pay after all, and his business was growing.
He sent his daughter to a private school in the neighbouring town and bought a brand-new Buick for Candice to chauffeur her. She complained at first, saying that driving was taking too much of her time, but she found a new hair salon and volunteer work at the town through a friend from PTA. Her days were full as her husband’s, so she forgot to send his shirts to a drycleaner sometimes.
At last they bought a house in her parents’ neighbourhood. It was slightly bigger than her old house, a long driveway paved with red bricks, a big porch all around. An immense oak tree gave a nice shade in the summer, the lawn always manicured, a rose garden with a white bench. The rooms were filled with fancy furniture, including a grand piano, but the picture frames on the wall collected dust, petals of flowers in a vase dry and brown.
One day he came home from work and found his shoes had not been polished yet. He had an important meeting in the evening so he asked her beforehand. He cursed, and told her that he could not tolerate left-over lasagne three days in a row, and that she had nothing better to do all day other than sit on her lazy butt and watch TV. She just shrugged her shoulders and said, “Okay Dad, I’m leaving, too.” And she was gone.
Thanks for reading!
My question is, is it working?
I'd appreciate any comment; please be blunt, for I'd rather hear negative ones.
Hi Hiromi,
I`ve printed a copy to take a look. If anyone else wants to critique the story, I suggest you do the same. Proofreading from a screen is *not* the same as from a piece of paper!
Actually, I`m away at my island friend`s home and on dialup Internet (can you imagine!) so may not give feedback until I return to Vancouver tomorrow.
Thanks for being the first!
Hi! Brad and everybody, I put my story in the section that the post title is zeugma. I had a hard time to find the comment when I tried to type my homework-short story. Sorry about that.
Hello All. Really don't know what to write about so i'm just gonna wing it.
Sitting in front of my computer. Other stories are posted and most are very good. What the hell am I going to write about? The more I ask myself this the more my imagination seems on sabatical. Do I write about something personal, fantastical, realistic? I do not know.
I have not always been this flitted-minded person. I am unsure of myself. Ohhhh this makes me so angry! I have listened very closely in class. Everyone has all these great ideas. I could write about the emotional move I made comming to the coast. No, that would take too long and probably invite a too-close examination into my personal life by others.
I could write about my son. Thats been done by others to the eight millionth degree. The leaves outside are really pretty. I could write about that. Oh Jeez! Just how much can you say about the color of a leaf? Whats happened to my mind? Words used to pour from my fingertips as water from a crystal fall.
I could submit one of many poems, but none are long enough to satisfy the assignment. This is really difficult. How am I to become the writer I want to be if I can't come up with any ideas? I have put off the assignment for three weeks. I am so anxious. This class is so important. It is my last credit. If I actually see it through I will graduate in June.
Ok, I will sit and complain about all the ideas I do not have. Yeah, that will work. I will rant and rave. I will cry and pull my hair and feel oh so sorry for myself. I will disregard every viable idea that comes into my head as crap.
An idea just occurred to me. I will simply write about the fact that there is nothing to write about. I am a genius. I am a virtuoso. I am a moron. I am a pioneer and a legend in my own mind. I am a comedian. I am a thesbian. Wow! Where did all that come from? I'll write about the fact that maybe I need some help. What kind of help? You may be asking yourselves. Use your imagination.
In the end I believe that all writing is poetry. The words find their way onto the page. We write about things we love, things we hate, things we understand, things that matter, or don't as the case may be. Take my words for whatever they mean to you. Do you ever feel this confused over something that wasn't meant to be complicated?
This was the avenue I walked down. Next time maybe I will have had some sort of writer's epiphany. Perhaps it will resemble some Robert Frost poem or Ann Rice's dark and rich prose. This is what you get for now. Love it or hate it. It is what it is and thats all that it is.
Alright Brad. I have not figured out how to use the spell check or grammatic. Hope it was alright. See you in class thursday. Everyone else, leave your comments. Don't be shy. Tell me how you really feel.
Stacey.
Stacey,
Wow! Well you can certainly write. I have an idea for class on Thursday that might help you (and others) who are having trouble getting started. Curious? Hope so!
The Warm Restaurant
One early evening, Julia turned on the neon open sign and opened the entrance door to refresh air. Fallen leaves moved backward on the pavement. The air was rather chilly. There was always full of stink of fried oil and minced garlic in her small restaurant.
Julia was busy preparing the dinner tables as an assistant cook, cashier, dishwasher, and waitress. Jim, Julia’s husband, created rhythmical chopping sound in the kitchen. He tried to finish cutting carrot, onion, and zucchini before the sun set.
Soon, three young siblings in shabby clothing came in the restaurant cautiously. Julia pointed the corner table and served hot green tea. The youngest boy, Sean, put his freezing hands on the tea pot. When Julia handed over the menu, Sean’s stomach made grumbling sound. Immediately, his cheeks were blushed.
“Congratulations, Sean!” The eldest sister, Angela said softly.
“Our mom and dad would treat you better if they were alive.”
Momentarily, the memory of the terrible car accident occurred to the poor siblings. Angela tried to destroy the gloomy atmosphere.
“This is my gift for you.” Angela put a small package on the table.
“Thank you, Angela.” Sean hurriedly tore the wrapped paper. It was knitted gloves.
“Let’s order two Shanghai noodle because I had some snack at my work just before.” Angela said in small voice.
Amy, two- year younger than Angela, knew well; Angela had not had time for snack at her work.
“Today is Sean’s birthday, he deserves one but I want to share with you, Angela.” Amy said in high tone.
“Hmm… I got it.” Angela said helplessly.
“Oh dear!” suddenly Julia interrupted their talking.
“Aren’t you Angela and Amy? Don’t you remember me? Ah! You may not recognize me. At that time you were mere kids.” Julia said with a quivering voice.
“Your mom and I were good friends. Your mom helped me a lot both materially and morally, when I had a hard time” Julia said seriously.
Suspiciously, the siblings looked at each other and then nodded without a word.
“I’m so sorry. I haven’t taken care of you.” Julia continued to say “today I will treat you.”
They were puzzled, however were happy with their mom’s good memory.
“Please, three Wonton soup, three Shanghai noodle, one Sweet and sour pork, and one Shrimp fried rice.” Julia shouted toward the kitchen
“Yep.” The husky voice came from the kitchen.
The siblings had a full stomach and their cheeks flushed like a peach.
Julia handed a doggie bag to them.
“Don’t care a bit about these foods. I’ve owed much to your mom. You are grown up so nicely.” Julia said good bye
In a few seconds, Jim came out from the kitchen and asked, “Honey, who is their mom?”
“Frankly speaking, I don’t know either.” Julia said with a mild smile.
Hi Suzanne.
I know I should have printed out a copy of your short story. I have not figured out how to print just one though. I wanted to tell you that I love the descriptive words you use. You have a wonderful way of turning a phrase. The only problem I encountered was how many words you chose to use. I have the same problem writing too many words to describe something. Like I just did..lol.
The first few lines I felt might have been better as; "residing in a slum area" "Seagulls, with their gorgeous figures fly above the clouds" (omit sky) "All this makes the harbour a paradise" (omit wonderful) "The ocean breeze gave people a sense of soothing relaxation" "How free and happy a seagulls life must be"
I think you have a wonderful imagination and quite frankly i'm a little envious. Good Job!
Rosaria,
I like the ending. It was a surprise!
Just that, how old are the siblings exactly? I had hard time imagining them. I thought maybe they are around ten, but the girl is working, so...?
And you don't need the line: "Amy, two- year younger than Angela, knew well; Angela had not had time for snack at her work."
The reader can guess that easily.
Also, you can describe "shabby clothing." Like a hole in the knee, worn-out T shirts, etc., so that we can picture them clearly.
Stacy,
Yeah, I really like your free verse. (or is it free prose?) It was fun.
Also, I like your picture, too!
See you guys tomorrow.
Hello again all. Gonna give this another shot.
Once Upon A Time.
Once upon a time in vast green valley, there lived a potatoe named Ralph. He was one of many siblings and thought himself quite ugly. He wasn't quite ripe and mostly green and had way too many eyes. Half the time he didn't know which way was up. Such was his vision, if you can imagine. His Mother seemed the only one to show him any love or appreciation at all.
His brothers and sisters often teased him about his appearance and general personality. How could he though be happy when his life was so miserable? Everyday Ralph would climb a corn-stalk to look over the valley at the giant hulking castle far off in the distance. It must be a half-million miles away and still its shadow cast itself apon the earth below the corn-stalk where Ralph was now clinging.
"I bet if I could get into that castle and steal something to bring back to my lousy brothers and sisters they'de like me" "I just bet!" Ralph decided to consult with his freind Myles the carrot so he could figure out a way to get there. He climbed down and found his way to Myles. "Are you offa your nut?" Asked Myles incredulously. "First, how do you expect to get all the way there?" "And then, how're you gonna get in?" "And what if the giant-ass people who live there decide to make you part of their dinner?" "I've thought of all that." "I need to do this." "I just have to." "Whatever happens, happens."
There was nothing Myles could say that would change Ralphs' mind and so he helped him sneak out that night. No easy task considering how many potatoes lived in that particular home. And so Ralph set off in search of adventure. The valley was full of strange noises at night. Ralph had never paid attention to the screeches of owls or the whistling of the wind. He had never ventured out at night. Ahead there was a steady pounding beat. Ralph could see a neon sign in the distance. It kept flashing but he could not make out the letters from this distance. Who was he kidding, he couldn't read a sign dead-ahead of him if his life depended on it. "Damn all these eyes!" he lamented to himself.
"Heya sweetheart, where ya head'n?" A voice purred from just behind Ralph. He jumped, tripped, and fell, flat on his face. "Wha, wha, wha do you want?" he stammered. A red pepper stood there. She was the most beautiful thing that Ralph had ever seen. She was red, so red. Her eyes sparkled blue like a summer sky and her lashes were so long they caused a breeze when she blinked.
Ok...This was one idea. Tell me what you think? Puleeze.......
Hi Stacy,
This is a bit of surprise 'cause I thought you're going to write one of your hard-boiled stuff. Anyway:
I like Ralgh and cheer for him, but I have one problem.
He already knows his brothers and sisters are "lousy," then why he tries to please them?
I like Red Pepper's "lashes were so long they caused a breeze when she blinked." It's cute!
But is she an angel, or a devil?
I'd like to know how the story would turn.
This is to be continued, right?
Please write the rest and show us.
And also, people might miss this story because it's in last week's comment section. Maybe make a new post? (I might to do that next time I post)
K, see ya.
Some corrections made and comments follow.
Once Upon A Time.
Once upon a time in vast green valley, there lived a potato named Ralph. He was one of many siblings and thought himself quite ugly. He wasn't quite ripe and mostly green and had way too many eyes. Half the time he didn't know which way was up. Such was his vision, if you can imagine. His mother seemed the only one to show him any love or appreciation at all.
His brothers and sisters often teased him about his appearance and general personality. How could he though be happy when his life was so miserable? Everyday Ralph would climb a corn-stalk to look over the valley at the giant hulking castle far off in the distance. It must be a half-million miles away and still its shadow cast itself upon the earth below the corn-stalk where Ralph was now clinging.
"I bet if I could get into that castle and steal something to bring back to my lousy brothers and sisters they’d like me" "I just bet!" Ralph decided to consult with his friend Myles the carrot so he could figure out a way to get there. He climbed down and found his way to Myles.
"Are you offa your nut?" Asked Myles incredulously. "First, how do you expect to get all the way there?" "And then, how're you gonna get in?" "And what if the giant-ass people who live there decide to make you part of their dinner?"
"I've thought of all that. I need to do this. I just have to. Whatever happens, happens."
There was nothing Myles could say that would change Ralph’s mind and so he helped him sneak out that night. No easy task considering how many potatoes lived in that particular home. And so Ralph set off in search of adventure. The valley was full of strange noises at night. Ralph had never paid attention to the screeches of owls or the whistling of the wind. He had never ventured out at night. Ahead there was a steady pounding beat. Ralph could see a neon sign in the distance. It kept flashing but he could not make out the letters from this distance. Who was he kidding, he couldn't read a sign dead-ahead of him if his life depended on it. "Damn all these eyes!" he lamented to himself.
"Heya sweetheart, where ya head'n?" A voice purred from just behind Ralph. He jumped, tripped, and fell, flat on his face. "Wha, wha, wha do you want?" he stammered. A red pepper stood there. She was the most beautiful thing that Ralph had ever seen. She was red, so red. Her eyes sparkled blue like a summer sky and her lashes were so long they caused a breeze when she blinked.
Stacey:
I made a few small corrections to the above. Ran a spellcheck for one and caught a few. See if you can spot the changes! New speakers need a new paragraph in dialogue, so I put some in where needed.
I’m with Hiromi: where’s this headed? It seems like the beginning of a story somehow. The idea of a potato with bad “eyes” is interesting at first but I wonder why it can’t just be a real person and not a vegetable. The setting emphasis with the owls and wind and “pounding beat” and “neon sign” makes me feel like something much more is to come. That’s a good thing until the story kind of just ends in the next paragraph.
Although a fairy tale (once upon a time . . .), you could use real-life people I think, but make the situations fantastical somehow.
Welcome more advices and suggestions. Thanks in advance!
Dreamers
It was midnight, but Ann couldn’t fall asleep at all. The storm howled all day that made her had really bad headache.
Wearing pajamas, she paced to the living room, collapsed into the sofa like a soulless puppet, and glared at the rain pattering on the dark window. Recently, her husband often came back home very late.
He said he was playing tennis with Jomar, and it was the only way he could relieve his depression.
“Canada doesn’t need any Master of Arts; it just needs labors!”
“My parents expect me to be Somebody, not a labor.”
“My classmates must laugh at me if they knew what I am doing in Canada.”
Being a labor is a shame in Chinese culture; especially, he graduated from Beijing University —the best university in China.
She wouldn’t forget that how excited when they received the landing paper. It was a raining day. Walking with an umbrella, they dreamed their new life in a new country in the future.
Time goes by quickly; the city’s maple trees had flowered four times.
Because of her experiences, perfect English, and hard working, Ann became a well-known reporter of a Chinese news paper in Vancouver. Thought the pay was not good, it was not bad for a new comer.
Also, by being a voter and a reporter, she had experienced the real democracy and freedom of press that was exactly what she dreamed before.
Except that her husband felt not good due to couldn’t find a better job except being a labor.
Once he got a chance to be an assistant cameraman in a studio. At the first day, he couldn’t follow the English-speaking film maker. Once he asked him to pick up “a cosmetician”; he didn’t understand what “a cosmetician” was. He must like a fool at that day he knew.
“I don’t want to be an idiot any more, even though they call me again.” He gnashed.
But they had never called him one more time.
In fact, the government provides many free services to new comers to improve their English. Her husband had been to Pearson Adult Learning Center for two months. It was really helpful but one day he said it was too hard to study after hours.
Facing at the wedding picture above fireplace, she suddenly realized that she hadn’t seen his smiling for a long time.
He kept saying:
“Vancouver is the best place for the haves or the have-nots, but not for me.”
“Don’t tell my mother we live in a basement.”
He dreamed to be a millionaire like Jomar: living in a big house in West Vancouver, driving a convertible BMW, and playing tennis all the day.
Jomar was a rich Vietnamese; they became friends by playing tennis. One day, her husband was invited to go fishing by a private boat.
“Jomar said he has more than forty containers in the harbor!” He told Ann when he came back.
After that, he couldn’t endure any more the smelling of their place. The carpet always emitted an unpleasant odor.
“I’m telling you, sooner or later, I will earn a pretty penny like Jomar!”
“Honey, I’ll buy you a house, a big house.”
As if only money could rebuild his confidence, but she had never asked him to make more money. She loved him no matter he was rich or not.
Before long, Jomar lent them this apartment for free that really surprised her. It was a real dream place: two bed rooms, more than 180 degrees ocean view, and located near English Bay.
“Why Jomar is so generous? Is it appropriate?” Ann asked.
“Don’t think too much.It is a reward for me. I’ll help him to develop China’s market.” He said.
“We’ll have our own place later that would be much better than this one! I promise.” He hugged her closely.
Last week they just settled in, and at the same time she found she was pregnant.
“A baby is coming. I will be a mother!”
She called their parents immediately.
Far away came to a series of alarm whistle.
“Where is he?” she murmured.
It was already 12:30; he supposed to come back soon.
Ann turned on the TV. There was no good news like her paper.
RCMP found another marijuana house in Surrey.
A black car crashed into the Fraser River from Pattulo Bridge.
A Chinese new comer jumped from an overpass in Toronto yesterday because he had two doctorates but could not find a good job. No letter left.
“Audiences love to see tragedies, don’t they?” Ann shook her head with a sigh.
“Bang, bang, bang…”
There was a knocking at the door.
“Huh, you finally come back! Why don’t you use your own key?”
She got up and moved quickly towards the door.
Two police officers were standing outside:
“Is David Lee your husband?”
“Yes, he is. Lee, L-E-E. What’s happened?” Her heart was thumping like a drum.
“Your husband is under arrest; he is suspected assisting in drug traffic. We are going to search for his home right now.”
“What? Drug? My husband? Oh, No!!!”
Hi Catherine,
I see you have changed it quite a bit.
But I feel somewhat the first draft was smoother.
The first three quotations you inserted are unnecessary, I think, since those his cries of frustration are mentioned later again.
The paragraph, "Also, by being a voter...," might need to be cut because it's irrelevant to the conflict of the story.
The paragraph, "In fact, the government…," could be just said briefly, like: He went to ESL class for two months but decided it was too hard to study after hours. (although this might be too short!)
I like the part she faces the picture and “suddenly realize[s]” she hasn’t seen his smile for a while. It’s a good detail and action.
And I thought you could do that more in this setting. Like:
Seeing the rain through the window, she reflects the day they had gotten the landing paper.
Observing the furniture and the room, she wonders about Jomar and her husband’s relationship.
Some good luck charm her (or his) mother gave them before they leave the country. (maybe)
And build up the drama, like:
She worries that her husband is late (the main conflict). She reflects their past, the hard ship for new comers. But they are doing okay now; they’ve got an apartment (she wonders why Jomar gave it to them). He is earning money by helping his friend though she doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. Her husband has bought a nice present for her lately (maybe)—a hint for the ending. Things are looking up. She concerns about his depression but is hopeful. Then she hears a knock on the door.
Just an idea.
I’m not sure about the baby part. It might not be necessary.
I like her flipping a remote and watching the news before the police arrives.
Okay, that's it for now. See you tomorrow.
Hi, Hiromi:
I’m sorry I got your message just now because I haven’t come here yesterday. Thanks for your advices! I’ll think about each of them and use them to make the story better.
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