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I wouldn't take Brandon Sanderson too serious.
His books aren't horrible, but his prose certainly is.
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On April 06 2012 05:13 [UoN]Sentinel wrote:Show nested quote +On April 06 2012 04:58 gumshoe wrote: it was something having to do with night right? Ooh, THAT's the topic he meant? I remember that one. I thought it was the realization one from the bottom of OP. Well, time for some revisions.
I dont actually know, it might be.
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Night = the short story.
The flash fiction (1000 or less) is in the OP:
Write about a character who realizes, through some dramatic circumstances, that something important that they've held as true all their life is wrong. Write that realization.
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Apparently TL has one of everything. Figures.
I have my one story which I tried to write down. I don´t now if it came up already, but isn´t writing on paper sometimes more convenient? There is all that mumbo jumbo about google docs and dropbox and so on, but I personally have no portable means of internet and I am sure as hell not trying to write on my cell phone. On the other hand not being on a computer frees me up mentally. (I´ve been playing games and wasting my times on computers since I was 8 or something, might be because of that) Paper has all the advantages(and disadvantages) of being tangible, I would have expected that at least some writers still use it for part of the process. More importantly, oftentimes I have ideas for where I could go with the story, while I´m sitting in a train or traveling in general. I love paper apparently.
Now for something slightly different: In few words, what is your opinion on making a certain story work versus writing the story which writes itself easily? My impression is that many people do the latter, while I am doing the former. I am probably influenced again by the only biography of a writer I read(by accident. It looked like the book was about running)
My current plan is to solidify the setting and arrange all the events in the course of the story before trying to write an entire chapter again. The problem was that my fantasy setting kept changing in ways that made earlier drafts completely inaccurate. Also the content of chapters and words in chapter are a concern for me. I feel guilty when chapters are short. But I could probably fill couple hundred pages without touching anything which will be important later on, too. Just writing away introduced more problems for me a short time later.
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Canada10904 Posts
On April 06 2012 05:14 zalz wrote:I wouldn't take Brandon Sanderson too serious. His books aren't horrible, but his prose certainly is. I haven't actually read any of Sanderson's work. However, who would you say has good prose and preferably someone that talks or writes a little bit about it.
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On April 06 2012 06:32 Falling wrote:Show nested quote +On April 06 2012 05:14 zalz wrote:I wouldn't take Brandon Sanderson too serious. His books aren't horrible, but his prose certainly is. I haven't actually read any of Sanderson's work. However, who would you say has good prose and preferably someone that talks or writes a little bit about it.
So far the highest on my list (which is not particularly large) is Michael Moorock, followed by Ursula K. Leguin. If memory serves, they should be more palatable than Sanderson & co.
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I love Sanderson's plotting and magic systems, and he's been steadily improving his pros, really cool.
I'd say a recent author with great pros is Patrick Rothfuss. Just read the opening of his novel, The Name Of The Wind, and you'll feel what I mean.
Yes, the writing challenge is about the "I've been wrong all my life" realization. What night thing were you guys talking about?
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On April 06 2012 06:32 Falling wrote:Show nested quote +On April 06 2012 05:14 zalz wrote:I wouldn't take Brandon Sanderson too serious. His books aren't horrible, but his prose certainly is. I haven't actually read any of Sanderson's work. However, who would you say has good prose and preferably someone that talks or writes a little bit about it.
I would say that Stephen King's "On Writing" is more or less the end all be all in terms of writing marketable books.
I would recommend you only read "On Writing" and perhaps one more book that deals with a specific area of writing that you feel could use help (like character writing or plot development).
After that you just gotta write, write, write. It is easy to get lost in watching a tons of lectures and reading tons of books about writing, but after a while it just becomes a way of putting it off.
If we are going to compare it to playing the piano (as Brandon did) then it would be like reading a thousand books about playing piano without ever touching one.
(This only refers to books that deal with writing. Reading normal books is always a good idea.)
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11 Posts
On April 06 2012 06:15 Mataza wrote: ... Now for something slightly different: In few words, what is your opinion on making a certain story work versus writing the story which writes itself easily? My impression is that many people do the latter, while I am doing the former. I am probably influenced again by the only biography of a writer I read(by accident. It looked like the book was about running)
My current plan is to solidify the setting and arrange all the events in the course of the story before trying to write an entire chapter again. The problem was that my fantasy setting kept changing in ways that made earlier drafts completely inaccurate. Also the content of chapters and words in chapter are a concern for me. I feel guilty when chapters are short. But I could probably fill couple hundred pages without touching anything which will be important later on, too. Just writing away introduced more problems for me a short time later. I think the single most difficult question is what to write.
Don’t feel guilty when chapters are short. Write a gripping story with fascinating characters and let the chapter length look after itself. If you’ve said what you want to say, move on. Or, put another way, don’t pad.
I would, however, strongly recommend that you have an outline of your story before you write it. I like your plan to arrange the key events of the story before you set off again. One benefit of this is that you can consider pacing at a high level. Not everyone likes outlining. It’s not easy.
I wouldn’t write two hundred pages without touching anything important to that book. It sounds like a different book. The danger is that you will either bore your reader before they reach your ‘real story’, or get really interested in your opening story and therefore disappointed when it moves elsewhere after 200 pages.
There are no rules. Whatever works for you, works.
To your point on the ease of writing (‘the story which writes itself easily’), I'm not sure there are many stories like this. Once you get into it, most writing is hard (the devil is in the detail, etc).
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On April 06 2012 15:04 FoxyMayhem wrote: I love Sanderson's plotting and magic systems, and he's been steadily improving his pros, really cool.
I'd say a recent author with great pros is Patrick Rothfuss. Just read the opening of his novel, The Name Of The Wind, and you'll feel what I mean.
Yes, the writing challenge is about the "I've been wrong all my life" realization. What night thing were you guys talking about?
Shit. Yeah, I'm not making this deadline then.
There was another topic called "Short Story Writing Contest" or something like that, where you had to write 2000-10000 word short story that could be anything as long as it involved night in some way.
We thought you were talking about that contest.
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I was thinking next week would be re-submissions of the edited and refined versions of this week's short stories. Go ahead and write it, and if you don't make this deadline, we'll put you in the next.
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Prose is subjective. What some find awesome, others find shit. It doesn't make sense to call one writer's prose better than another. I've won awards for my writing, yet, it doesn't make my opinion any more valid than the next guy's. There's no right or wrong in writing. That's what makes it great. That's also why I think guide books on how to write are retarded.
Best thing to do is just plunk away on the keyboard until you find what works for you. Then keep sending it out until someone else agrees with you. That's all there is to it.
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On April 07 2012 08:50 StorkHwaiting wrote: Prose is subjective. What some find awesome, others find shit. It doesn't make sense to call one writer's prose better than another. I've won awards for my writing, yet, it doesn't make my opinion any more valid than the next guy's. There's no right or wrong in writing. That's what makes it great. That's also why I think guide books on how to write are retarded.
Best thing to do is just plunk away on the keyboard until you find what works for you. Then keep sending it out until someone else agrees with you. That's all there is to it.
This is like saying that in the movie industry, things like lighting, sound editing and direction, are all entirely subjective.
The notion that there is no inherent difference between something like 'The Dark Knight' and a random student film is one that might be a little hard to sell.
Or that there is no objective difference between Mozart and child smashing his fists on a piano.
Or that the Mona Lisa can't be called better or worse than a child's crayon drawing.
There is objective value in art, and so is there in writing, of which prose is but one of many aspects.
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On April 07 2012 16:04 zalz wrote:Show nested quote +On April 07 2012 08:50 StorkHwaiting wrote: Prose is subjective. What some find awesome, others find shit. It doesn't make sense to call one writer's prose better than another. I've won awards for my writing, yet, it doesn't make my opinion any more valid than the next guy's. There's no right or wrong in writing. That's what makes it great. That's also why I think guide books on how to write are retarded.
Best thing to do is just plunk away on the keyboard until you find what works for you. Then keep sending it out until someone else agrees with you. That's all there is to it. This is like saying that in the movie industry, things like lighting, sound editing and direction, are all entirely subjective. The notion that there is no inherent difference between something like 'The Dark Knight' and a random student film is one that might be a little hard to sell. Or that there is no objective difference between Mozart and child smashing his fists on a piano. Or that the Mona Lisa can't be called better or worse than a child's crayon drawing. There is objective value in art, and so is there in writing, of which prose is but one of many aspects.
I disagree. I think claiming anything is objective when it comes to language, and especially fiction writing, is difficult. There are some works out there that on a technical level are extremely experimental or purposely written in poor quality prose for storytelling purposes, yet they work beautifully for the story they are trying to tell. In fiction, the story is the master, and prose merely a vehicle that moves at its whim.
It's not that there is no inherent difference between The Dark Knight and a random student filming, but rather that both forms can be of equal artistic merit. I don't believe there is an established archetype of what constitutes good technical writing in fiction. Rather, the artistic value of something is dependent on how well it conveys the story it is trying to tell. That's why I have a lot of problems with people saying something like one writer's prose is better than another's.
Blair Witch Project, a film made by random students filming, performed vastly better than a number of its contemporaries that were filmed by established professionals with much better technical skills in film. Yet, is it possible to actually dissect Blair Witch and prove what made it do so well and garner such a positive reception? I'm not so sure.
This is why, in general, I find the objective judging of art to be rather foolhardy. Art, by its very nature, is subjective.
Also, I find your comparisons to be misleading.
A child smashing his fists on a piano might not necessarily be a form of self-expression. It could just be a kid releasing physical energy. A child's crayon drawing could be a child practicing its motor skills, rather than an attempt at art. Therefore, to compare Mozart or the Mona Lisa to activities that might not even be attempts at self-expression is misguided in my opinion.
Whereas, comparing the Mona Lisa to The Starry Night would be a more accurate example of what I'm talking about. Can you say which is the greater masterpiece?
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Art can be objectively judged under a strict set of criteria (aka, goals, how well does the prose accomplish goal X), which is an essential part of the rewriting process, but it doesn't tell you if it's better art, just if it's better at accomplishing goal X.
As for Starry Night vs Mona Lisa, I appreciate Starry Night much more, ha ha ha.
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11 Posts
Hmm. Quality. Hmm. Difficult.
It is hard to define the quality of art as anything other than subjective reception. We then get into crowd arguments – five people think my art is better, five million people think your art is better. Neither is right or wrong, but your crowd is looking quite a bit bigger than mine...
There might not be an objective measure of quality, but we can often recognise craft and great craftsmanship – be it with painting, the piano, or whatever. It is hard to make a $1M movie look like a $200M movie. Of course, public mood is fickle and if you catch the zeitgeist then you can hit the top with anything. Same for books.
If a book sells a hundred, a thousand, or a million copies, does that give you a measure of the quality of the book? We can’t talk about quality easily, but it is possible to talk about popularity. If fifty thousand people are willing to spend money on your book, and only two hundred will buy mine, your book is more popular (in that narrow sense) than my book. This is an ever changing variable, we hope, but it is a comparator at any moment in time. I’m not saying that it’s a valid comparator. That depends on our purpose. I will say it’s a valid comparator if your goal is to make a living by selling books.
There is a level of quality you have to accomplish, across various areas, to satisfy your audience (as well as expectations about story, and genre, of course). Different audiences have wildly different expectations in this regard (e.g. young adult vs literary fiction). Some people get irritated by what other people are satisfied by – ‘I can’t believe they like/ tolerate that crap, look at the [fill in the blank for story, characters, whatever], it’s shit’.
If you looking to make a living as a writer, you need to account for your audience at some level. If you didn’t, then you wouldn’t need,or want, to publish your books. You would simply store them in your safe.
There are no rules. There are lots of guidelines (about working process and end product). Mainstream products tend to follow more of the guidelines (about plot, character, genre, etc). Books/ media that explain these guidelines with the goal of improving craftmanship (be they about story concept, plot, use of adverbs, or whatever) can be useful (surely?) – depends on where you are as a writer.
If anyone exists who would give your book five stars (or whatever subjective metric you pick), then it is a five star book - to the people that would give it five stars. This is why people talk about how a book (or a writer, sometimes) needs to ‘find their audience’. These are the people who will love your book. Ideally, you want those people to read your book, and no one else.
How the hell do you find them?
Hmm. Difficult.
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On March 31 2012 02:21 ecstatica wrote: I'm just wondering what does someone like zalz do after finishing "the book". Does one find inspiration in completing own book even though no one is going to read it/it has 0 chance of being published? Or does he actually think it is going to be published and might be read? Or is this just a huge practice drill that leads to writing something real?
Few options I think.
1. Treat it like the accomplishment of climbing mount everest. Climbing the mountain and reaching the top doesn't funnel you into a writer till death.
2. Try and submit and die and reborn.
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Took some time out from writing on my novel to write for the weekly challenge.
It comes in at 852 words. I don't particularly like flash fiction (1000 or less) but it can be decent practice. It is also a nice change of pace from the novels that eat up tens of thousands of words.
1000 words weekly challenge
+ Show Spoiler +The white stones shifted under the weight of his footsteps. He felt the first drops of rain falling against his skin, the kind of rain which came with the promise of more.
His head shifted from staring at the white stone path and the grey stones that stood to each side of the path. He read each of the names on the stones, trying to find the one he had been looking for. It had been a long time since he had been here.
Each of the gravestones seemed unique in its own way, standing in sharp contrasts to every other stone. Some distinguished themselves with their elaborate shapes, others with their very basic designs. He wasn’t sure which he liked more.
A gravestone drew his attention, not for its shape, but rather for the shrine of flowers that had been built around it. He stopped for a moment, taking in the sight.
A massive wreath stood slumped against the gravestone of classic design. The wreaths dark color were offset by the brighter flowers that had been placed on the grave itself, growing brighter and more festive the further down the grave.
He kneeled down before the grave and picked up the flower closest to his feet. A bright yellow flower. He felt like he should have known the name, but it escaped him. He would have considered the display of flowers to be beautiful in any other scene. Here, on this graveyard, the excess seemed wrong to him. This wasn’t a place for such happiness, not for him anyway.
He placed the yellow flower back, careful to make it seem as if it had never been moved.
He continued walking down the path of the white stones, continuing his search for the one stone that he was looking for. It would be several minutes before he finally came across it.
The gravestone was, like many others, a cross, but this one was different for its size. The massive cross of grey stone towered above, not only any other gravestone, but even him. Had his father asked for this stone? Or had the idea been his mother’s.
He read the gravestone’s white lettering, as if expecting it would read something else.
“Here lies William Dalas, loving husband and father. 1956-1999”
Underneath the inscription stood a Latin phrase, the golden text it was written in had begun to fade. He didn’t know what it meant when they took him here in his youth. He still didn’t know.
“It’s been a while, dad,” he said.
The only response came in the form of more rain. Too little to drench a person, too much to be ignored. The dark clouds stretched all across the sky. It would only get worse.
His eyes drifted towards the slab of stone that covered the grave itself. One day the other grave would be as devoid of flowers as his father’s grave. Many graves in the graveyard were already barren, but one day, they would all be.
He reached into the pocket of his suit, pulling out a sheet of paper. Still crumpled, he held it up like a lawyer would hold up a critical piece of evidence in court, the same accusatory air.
“Mom sent me this last week,” he said. “Her health isn’t what it used to be, dad. She said she wanted me to know, but she couldn’t even tell me in person.”
The rain grew heavier. The noise of rain striking against the stony path had begun to drawn out most other sounds. He shook the adoption papers more violently, holding it up against the gravestone that loomed over him. “What do I call you now, dad?” he asked. He felt the sting in his eyes, he had promised himself he wouldn’t.
The gravestone remained as silent as it had always been.
“What do I call you now!” he screamed, throwing the piece of paper onto the grey slab that covered the grave. Without flowers, it was all the decoration the grave had.
He looked at the paper, fading from white to muddy gray as the rain tore away at it.
He crouched down, gathering a hand of white stones from the path. He screamed as he tossed the handful of stones at the giant stone cross. The stones ricocheted off the immoveable cross, not inflicting so much as a scratch against it.
He felt the wind picking up, freezing his now drenched hands. He stuck his hands into his pocket to warm them. It proved a poor attempt.
He felt his black hair, made to cling against his face by the rain. The rain that had now gotten too worse to weather. He looked up at the gravestone for what felt like the last time. Maybe it was, he didn’t know. “Bye,” he mumbled. He wondered why he had even come here. Upon reflection, it seemed almost childish.
He began to walk away, only to pause and turn around. He stared for a few moments, weighing the words in his mind. “Dad,” he eventually decided to add before finally walking away from the grave.
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On April 07 2012 16:41 StorkHwaiting wrote:Show nested quote +On April 07 2012 16:04 zalz wrote:On April 07 2012 08:50 StorkHwaiting wrote: Prose is subjective. What some find awesome, others find shit. It doesn't make sense to call one writer's prose better than another. I've won awards for my writing, yet, it doesn't make my opinion any more valid than the next guy's. There's no right or wrong in writing. That's what makes it great. That's also why I think guide books on how to write are retarded.
Best thing to do is just plunk away on the keyboard until you find what works for you. Then keep sending it out until someone else agrees with you. That's all there is to it. This is like saying that in the movie industry, things like lighting, sound editing and direction, are all entirely subjective. The notion that there is no inherent difference between something like 'The Dark Knight' and a random student film is one that might be a little hard to sell. Or that there is no objective difference between Mozart and child smashing his fists on a piano. Or that the Mona Lisa can't be called better or worse than a child's crayon drawing. There is objective value in art, and so is there in writing, of which prose is but one of many aspects. I disagree. I think claiming anything is objective when it comes to language, and especially fiction writing, is difficult. There are some works out there that on a technical level are extremely experimental or purposely written in poor quality prose for storytelling purposes, yet they work beautifully for the story they are trying to tell. In fiction, the story is the master, and prose merely a vehicle that moves at its whim. It's not that there is no inherent difference between The Dark Knight and a random student filming, but rather that both forms can be of equal artistic merit. I don't believe there is an established archetype of what constitutes good technical writing in fiction. Rather, the artistic value of something is dependent on how well it conveys the story it is trying to tell. That's why I have a lot of problems with people saying something like one writer's prose is better than another's. Blair Witch Project, a film made by random students filming, performed vastly better than a number of its contemporaries that were filmed by established professionals with much better technical skills in film. Yet, is it possible to actually dissect Blair Witch and prove what made it do so well and garner such a positive reception? I'm not so sure. This is why, in general, I find the objective judging of art to be rather foolhardy. Art, by its very nature, is subjective. Also, I find your comparisons to be misleading. A child smashing his fists on a piano might not necessarily be a form of self-expression. It could just be a kid releasing physical energy. A child's crayon drawing could be a child practicing its motor skills, rather than an attempt at art. Therefore, to compare Mozart or the Mona Lisa to activities that might not even be attempts at self-expression is misguided in my opinion. Whereas, comparing the Mona Lisa to The Starry Night would be a more accurate example of what I'm talking about. Can you say which is the greater masterpiece?
There's a difference between experimentation and ignorance. The Blair Witch Project, for instance, was a very deliberate exercise in recreating certain filmic tropes from non-fiction genres (documentary and home video) to bring realism to a subject of otherwise dubious plausibility. The whole shaky-cam/light flare trend in science fiction television and film (Battlestar Galactica, Firefly, the most recent Star Trek movie) is another instance of this. People can usually get away with mucking around with the technical conventions of the genre if they're doing it on purpose (because they already understand the rules), and if it brings something to the story. It can be less forgivable when someone does it because they don't know any better. It's difficult to point to mainstream example of poor filmmaking because the scale on which feature films are made is big, and so much money is involved, that there tends to be a lot of quality assurance going on.
Technique is not the be-all and end-all of the writing craft, but as with most things, you would do well to spend time learning the rules and gaining insight into why they exist, before you go out and start breaking them.
EDIT: Someone asked me a little while ago if I could recommend a good "writer" in the SF genres, and I fumbled, finally landing on Ursula LeGuin (funnily enough), who I do think is a fine writer but suspect her style can limit her audience. I've been trying to read The Name of the Wind for two months now, and while I agree that the writing is solid, I'm actually finding it very difficult to get into. If I were going to give that recommendation again, I would probably change it to Robin Hobb.
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On April 07 2012 18:33 zalz wrote:Took some time out from writing on my novel to write for the weekly challenge. It comes in at 852 words. I don't particularly like flash fiction (1000 or less) but it can be decent practice. It is also a nice change of pace from the novels that eat up tens of thousands of words. 1000 words weekly challenge+ Show Spoiler +The white stones shifted under the weight of his footsteps. He felt the first drops of rain falling against his skin, the kind of rain which came with the promise of more.
His head shifted from staring at the white stone path and the grey stones that stood to each side of the path. He read each of the names on the stones, trying to find the one he had been looking for. It had been a long time since he had been here.
Each of the gravestones seemed unique in its own way, standing in sharp contrasts to every other stone. Some distinguished themselves with their elaborate shapes, others with their very basic designs. He wasn’t sure which he liked more.
A gravestone drew his attention, not for its shape, but rather for the shrine of flowers that had been built around it. He stopped for a moment, taking in the sight.
A massive wreath stood slumped against the gravestone of classic design. The wreaths dark color were offset by the brighter flowers that had been placed on the grave itself, growing brighter and more festive the further down the grave.
He kneeled down before the grave and picked up the flower closest to his feet. A bright yellow flower. He felt like he should have known the name, but it escaped him. He would have considered the display of flowers to be beautiful in any other scene. Here, on this graveyard, the excess seemed wrong to him. This wasn’t a place for such happiness, not for him anyway.
He placed the yellow flower back, careful to make it seem as if it had never been moved.
He continued walking down the path of the white stones, continuing his search for the one stone that he was looking for. It would be several minutes before he finally came across it.
The gravestone was, like many others, a cross, but this one was different for its size. The massive cross of grey stone towered above, not only any other gravestone, but even him. Had his father asked for this stone? Or had the idea been his mother’s.
He read the gravestone’s white lettering, as if expecting it would read something else.
“Here lies William Dalas, loving husband and father. 1956-1999”
Underneath the inscription stood a Latin phrase, the golden text it was written in had begun to fade. He didn’t know what it meant when they took him here in his youth. He still didn’t know.
“It’s been a while, dad,” he said.
The only response came in the form of more rain. Too little to drench a person, too much to be ignored. The dark clouds stretched all across the sky. It would only get worse.
His eyes drifted towards the slab of stone that covered the grave itself. One day the other grave would be as devoid of flowers as his father’s grave. Many graves in the graveyard were already barren, but one day, they would all be.
He reached into the pocket of his suit, pulling out a sheet of paper. Still crumpled, he held it up like a lawyer would hold up a critical piece of evidence in court, the same accusatory air.
“Mom sent me this last week,” he said. “Her health isn’t what it used to be, dad. She said she wanted me to know, but she couldn’t even tell me in person.”
The rain grew heavier. The noise of rain striking against the stony path had begun to drawn out most other sounds. He shook the adoption papers more violently, holding it up against the gravestone that loomed over him. “What do I call you now, dad?” he asked. He felt the sting in his eyes, he had promised himself he wouldn’t.
The gravestone remained as silent as it had always been.
“What do I call you now!” he screamed, throwing the piece of paper onto the grey slab that covered the grave. Without flowers, it was all the decoration the grave had.
He looked at the paper, fading from white to muddy gray as the rain tore away at it.
He crouched down, gathering a hand of white stones from the path. He screamed as he tossed the handful of stones at the giant stone cross. The stones ricocheted off the immoveable cross, not inflicting so much as a scratch against it.
He felt the wind picking up, freezing his now drenched hands. He stuck his hands into his pocket to warm them. It proved a poor attempt.
He felt his black hair, made to cling against his face by the rain. The rain that had now gotten too worse to weather. He looked up at the gravestone for what felt like the last time. Maybe it was, he didn’t know. “Bye,” he mumbled. He wondered why he had even come here. Upon reflection, it seemed almost childish.
He began to walk away, only to pause and turn around. He stared for a few moments, weighing the words in his mind. “Dad,” he eventually decided to add before finally walking away from the grave.
Wow that was pretty good! Would you mind giving me/us a short overview on how you approach writing such a short story? Personally I try to come up with the general theme or what I want to express first. Then I try to think of the best way to tell it to the reader. Then I start writing. Do you do it similarly or do you have a completely different approach?
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