I have been thinking about my short story a lot. I have all kinds of ideas just swirling around in my head, but can't quite figure out how to get them from there to paper. It almost feels like there is a "plug" that is stopping the flow. I jot down ideas all the time, but getting them into some kind of "form" is the difficult part. So I have been looking on the all powerful "google" to learn the techniques and structure of writing a good story. Very interesting stuff and I have a lot to learn, but I am really excited about getting a handle on it.
When I was in school and had to write papers I never felt that I could get my point across without running on and on and on. Of course, sometimes less is more and I really tried to work on that aspect of writing. I usually got good grades and while a freshman in college I wrote a paper on anti-vivisection and the professor really liked it and and said I had a good grasp of the facts and controversy of the subject. I was very proud of that paper.
I can't tell you why I feel the need to write, I'm not sure I even know, but it has been something gnawing at me for a long time. But it has always made me nervous and UNcomfortable to have people read what I have written, especially in front of me. When I would ask my mother to read over something I had written for school, I would always leave the room. I think it makes me feel vulnerable and exposed to put my thoughts and ideas out there. But...I have been putting myself out there for a little more than a month now on this blog so I am feeling a more confident about it. Good or bad, I still plan to keep at it.
A few weeks ago I wrote a few lines that I wanted to start my short story with. Well, here they are again along with some additional lines.
"She was dressed from head to toe in all red. A bold statement for someone almost 6ft. tall, and even taller in stilettos. Her long hair hung like flaxen silk down her back. All the women in the room sat up straighter and the men, well, the men were on the edge of their seats.
As she glided across the floor towards her table, she noticed a man standing off to the side of the stage. It was open mic night at the small, out of the way nightclub and he was waiting his turn to go on. She had a fondness for musicians, usually the rock 'n roll bad boys. But all the acts tonight were country music, which she didn't really care for, but her friend had talked her into coming. Her friend had just broken up with her boyfriend and wanted to wallow in some "beer drinkin", "my dog got runned over" and "my wife ran off with my best friend" music.
Jimmy had been playing music as long as he could remember.He grew up in the mountains and the houses were few and far between, so there weren't a lot of kids to play with. He spent a lot of time with his grandparents while his momma and daddy looked for work. He used to play the spoons with his granddaddy on the front porch and when he got a little older, his grandma taught him to play the dulcimer. He taught himself to play the piano and the guitar. But his favorite instrument, by far, was the fiddle."
OK, that's what I have so far. It may be "amateurish"and "unpolished" , but I look on this as exercise. I'm getting my creative juices in shape and ready to work. Remember, it is still a work in progress and it is a big deal, for me at least, to even put my writing out there. If you enjoy it great, if not, hopefully I will improve with time. Thanks for reading.
Kathy
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