Posts Tagged With: short story

Summer Projects

So, maybe it’s not quite summer yet, but with school over and work season already started, it feels like summer to me. Also, the warm weather and sunshine helps confuse the fact that it’s actually still spring. I have received 1 of my final grades, for my stageplay/screenplay class, and that is an A- (81%) overall. Yay! It makes me happy because those are the two areas I want to continue in 3rd and 4th year (I’m leaning towards stage tbh. I really, really loved it). There’s really nothing better than being successful at the things you’re passionate about, you know? I feel like maybe that bachelor of arts is attainable to someone like me, and it makes me want to try that much harder to reach that goal.

My main goal this summer, as much as I’d love to tackle my book, is to try and finish the one short story I –[actually gave a shit about]– wrote for school this semester. I feel like finishing a book during summer is maybe attainable if I wasn’t really busy with work, and travel, and weddings, and house projects, and… and… and… the list goes on. Maybe if I could disappear for 2-3 months I could finally finish the damn thing, but there’s just WAY too much to do. In light of that, I’m aiming for something much smaller. I know small and me don’t do well together. Usually everything winds up being “so much bigger than I anticipated.” *cough* 1 book into 3 books *cough* But I’ve got 3000-5000 words of space to work with right now (the story is currently 7,000 words). I knew when I started this story that it felt like a 10,000 word story, and I cut a lot out for school because I didn’t want to be THAT person. But the story means a lot to me, and I really want to finish it!

I’m so excited about this story. It deals with body image (something I’ve personally dealt with), and so the topic, I guess, means a lot to me. Learning to accept oneself, and defining yourself by more than your weight, or the clothes you wear, and learning not to compare yourself to others. Anyways, I don’t want to actually spoil anything. I’ve started working on it this weekend–the main, bigger scene I wanted to put in the story that I left out because I didn’t want to hand in such a huge story. (It’s a really great scene, guys; I love it so much). So, wish me luck!

Goal: To successfully finish my first short story.

I can do it!



Categories: Book Musings | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

Writers Block

Is alive and coursing through my system, ravaging the creative spark. I can’t say I’ve ever experienced writers block to this level. I mean, sure, I’ve had days where I couldn’t write, but they usually followed times when I had been writing for long hours over the course of multiple days. I’d take a few days, maybe a week, to regenerate and off I’d go writing again. But this. This is different. It’s been two weeks. And I have tried. I’ve stared at the blank page and told myself even bad writing is a place to start. And off I’d trek. I’d start the story. Then I’d erase it and start again. And I did this, am doing this, over and over to no avail. Nothing I do will make the words come out in coherent order.

So I guess my question is what now? Normally I’d take a serious break. I’d do a little soul searching, maybe focus on something else creative, like art or music. I’d think about my story and properly sort through my thoughts and feelings regarding it. Maybe I’d even try and work on older writing projects, since dealing with characters I’m already familiar with might help get me back into that head space. But I don’t have that luxury. As it stands I’m now 7 days away from school starting, and with it 7 days before I have a 3500 word short story due.

I’ve taken a break. I’ve tried writing, even if it was bad. I’ve walked away, and come back, slept on it; I’ve switched characters, names, locations, POV’s, tenses, and there’s still nothing. I’ve even tried writing not fiction in the hopes of getting the juices flowing. I thought if I couldn’t think of anything, I could write about a real experience, but even that ended in disaster. I know writers block is common and usually happens, sometimes multiple times, to writers, especially those that write a lot. It’s different from the “what if I never think of another story?” because it’s like there is a blank space where my characters should be. It’s a raucous room gone quiet. The door’s locked, and I’ve lost the key.

So what do you do? How do you get over creative blocks? Any suggestions? I’m at a complete loss, and stressing out because I have this looming deadline.


Categories: Life or Something Like it | Tags: , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Lessons in Shotgunning

I was nineteen when I shotgunned my first beer. I was at the park with Hayden and his friends. It’s not like there was anything else to do on a Saturday night in this town. Hayden spun into the little sapling beside him after he took his turn.
“I’m so drunk right now,” he said.
Dylan and Wes laughed, having successfully finished their own. I thought he was play acting, it was just one beer. I punched a hole in the bottom of my can with the can opener on Wes’ keychain. I think it was Molson Canadian. I pushed it to my mouth and pulled the tab. The cold liquid started a quick rush down my throat and I swear I almost died. From choking, that is. How embarrassing would that be? Being the older sister I had a reputation to keep.
When Hayden was done dramatizing he turned around to ask me how I felt.
“You don’t feel anything at all?” he said.
“No.” Was I supposed to? “I feel exactly the same.”
I could tell he was impressed and I won’t lie about how proud I felt. Shotgunning a beer without getting drunk felt medal worthy and I’d do anything to earn my brother’s respect. I leaned back against the picnic table, deciding to do another one. This one hit me a little harder and my head started to buzz. I drank the last one normally.
“We need more beer,” Wes said.
I kicked the empty case. I guess a 12-pack didn’t last long when there were four people shotgunning them. I hopped off the table and wobbled a bit.
“Okay, now I’m feeling it,” I said.
Maybe I should have felt guilty walking to the liquor store to buy alcohol for me and my underage brother, but I didn’t. Better me than some stranger off the street offering more than just alcohol. I knew he’d be out here drinking with or without me.
I bought a 4-pack of Mike’s Hard lemonade and grabbed two tequila shots. What the hell, they were only ninety-nine cents each. We walked to the elementary school, since it was closer, and sat on the blue metal benches near the playground. Wes, Dylan and Hayden drank more beer, and I drank my lemonade; entertainment courtesy of Wes as he tried and failed to cross the monkey bars.
“These bars are moving,” he said.
“Just keep telling yourself that,” Dylan said.
Hayden ran over. “I’ll hold your legs.”
It seemed like a good plan until about halfway when Hayden tripped, Wes lost his grip and they ended up in a heap on the rubber ground. I laughed as they staggered to their feet. I don’t remember Wes going home; I guess I was pretty drunk by then. Before we left the playground I grabbed the plastic shot glasses and handed one to Hayden.
“What’s this,” he asked.
“Tequila and Butterripple Schnapps,” I replied.
“You guys are crazy,” Dylan said.
I laughed. “Whatever, it’s only one shot.”
“I don’t do tequila since last year’s camping trip when chewed up hotdogs ended up in the lake,” he replied.
“Too much detail bro,” Hayden said.
“You mean all them little garbled up pink fleshy pie—“
Hayden pushed Dylan’s shoulder. “Seriously, that’s so gross.”
I shrugged. “At least they were cheap.”
We pulled off the foil wrap. “One, two, three.” It burned the whole way down. I wanted a cigarette after that. Don’t ask me why, because I never smoked before, it was a weird craving. Dylan offered me a stogie, but it made me gag and I gave it back to him. We stumbled down a path between pink stucco houses, the street lamps casting shadows through their darkened windows, and continued past Cheungs Market, yelling and laughing along the empty streets. I don’t remember where we ended up. Somewhere in that small town, along the chain-link fence of a basketball court, my brother got sick.
“Just let it all out man,” Dylan said.
I bent down beside him and rubbed his back. “It’ll be okay.”
“I’m really glad you’re here,” he told me.
“Where else would I be?” I replied.
There’s something about standing beside your younger brother as he pukes up a nights worth of alcohol into the grass that makes you evaluate life. Maybe it was weird that I didn’t want to be anywhere else, but it felt like we shared a moment and I knew I always wanted to be the person he felt safest with. When we were kids we only had each other to rely on; we knew the darkest parts of ourselves and I wanted him to know I wasn’t afraid of his.

Categories: Creative Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Six Word Stories

I’ve been reading a lot of six word stories recently and thought I’d try my hand at a few. They are so fun to write!

He kissed me. My heart flew.

My lips left you a poem.

Her hair flew in perpetual storm.

Kill the natives. Celebrate with turkey.

Coffee is my drug. Inject me.

Love is my drug. Break me.

Sex is my drug. Fuck me.

Lusty eyes, ripped clothes, forever changed.

Love me now, break me later.

Good morning douchbag. I hate you.

The end of all things broken.

Death becomes such a lonely heart.

Categories: Creative Writing | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

Create a free website or blog at