Fiction: Released from the Morgue

Posted on by bryon

The seating hostess led Emily and her mother, Amelia, to a booth. In due course, a waiter took their luncheon order and delivered drinks and salads. When he disappeared again, Amelia opened the conversation.

“I am growing weary of that measured look you’ve been giving me since we met outside, Emily. You have something on your mind. May I know what it is?”

“Do you know what the Herald has been doing over the course of the last several years, Mother?”

“That’s a rather oblique answer to my question. No, I don’t believe I do know what the Herald has been doing. Does it have anything to do with your unusual mood?”

“Indeed it does,” Emily said. “The Herald, bless its editor, has been steadily working to put all its past issues – the newspaper’s morgue, as it’s called – online. They’ve gotten at least as far as 1957.”

Amelia swallowed a forkful of arugula dressed with raspberry vinaigrette. “Have they?” A silent moment passed, and Amelia sighed. “Dear, if there is some point to be made here, please make it. I’m too old to play guessing games.”

“Nothing about that year rings a bell?”

“That was the year the Russians launched their Sputnik, as I recall.”

“And you launched something else.”

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Pen to Paper: Foreshadowing

Posted on by bryon

Foreshadowing is a skill a writer must master as he works toward making art. It requires a delicate touch: if it’s too subtle, the reader will miss it; if it’s too heavy-handed, the rest of the story is unnecessary.

You can build in foreshadowing details as you go, leading the reader even as you write. Or when you get to the end of the story and realize that you need to add this element, you can go back and put it where it needs to go. The reader won’t know you stuck it in later. Sometimes, a sentence you write just as part of the narrative ends up as foreshadowing; you successfully lead yourself through your own story.

Author Cathy Clamp tells how she uses foreshadowing to alert her readers to elements of the story she wants to emphasize. The Foreshadowing page at UDL Editions gives some excellent examples of foreshadowing.

Most of us read Shirley Jackson’s famous short story “The Lottery” when we were in school. Schoolbytes shows us how Jackson used foreshadowing to hint at what was to come. And BookRags summarizes the ways William Shakespeare foreshadowed the action in Macbeth.

Do you have a favorite example of foreshadowing to share?

Fiction: Paying the Price

Posted on by bryon

Lon heard a knock on his door. That was cause for concern; he had no friends, and the Girl Scouts and Jehovah’s Witnesses had better sense than to visit his neighborhood.

Still, it was a knock; someone had manners enough for that rather than to knock down the door – or make a new one. So maybe this wouldn’t end fatally.

He threw back three deadbolts and opened the door. Sonia was there, and Jerzy loomed behind her. He stepped back to let them into his little house. Jerzy closed the door.

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Pen to Paper: Another Writing Tool

Posted on by bryon

There are more ways to write a story than there are writers. There are perhaps endless techniques and tools and philosophies. Start at the beginning and work forward. Start in the middle and give the reader a little of the beginning as necessary. Let character drive the plot. Let theme drive the plot. Don’t bother with a plot.

Here’s one more tool for your writerly toolbox, courtesy of Ray Rhamey at Writer Unboxed. I haven’t tried it yet, though I may do so soon. It looks (perhaps deceptively) simple and straightforward, and I can see this might be a useful tool for breaking through writer’s block.

After this, there is a brief discussion of one reason why stories are important. It’s something I hadn’t seen put into words before, but it makes sense to me.

Fiction: Home Again

Posted on by bryon

It had taken a long time to get out of the jungle, and there had been many others that were just as lost.

Gradually, they found their way to the city; the ones they sought had gone, and the sense was that they had gone home. So the lost ones stowed away on the few remaining naval vessels in the area, gaining passage to the United States.

A lucky handful were repatriated in Hawaii, but most had to go on to the mainland. Once there, the search was hardly begun. The country spread out before them vast and broad and well populated. There were barely remembered place names; geography was not their strength. Still, it was better than no clue at all, and they set out singly or in pairs or groups to find their individual homes.

After years of looking, one grew increasingly eager, sensing that the search was about to end. Something about this small Ohio town felt familiar.

And – yes! Here was the house. And inside, the man dreamed.

“Watch that hut, Pete. I think I saw movement over there.”

Pete grunted his acknowledgment.

“Let’s move in a little closer, guys,” the lieutenant said, and the little knot of men approached the hut.

A young boy, perhaps eight years old, ran from the dark opening. He clutched a pistol and fired it blindly as he raced past the American soldiers. His shots went well over their heads, and a couple of the men chuckled at the child’s audacity even as they put their rifles to their shoulders.

“I got this one,” Pete said. He extended the nozzle of his M9A1-7 flamethrower and pulled the trigger.

The boy could not outrace the blaze arcing through the air. He went down screaming, writhing. Pete gave him another shot of liquid fire and the boy lay still and was consumed.

“It’s not enough to shoot the gun, kid,” Pete said. “Ya gotta hit the target.”

Pete’s wandering conscience sank deeply into him, and Pete awoke screaming.

He had willfully, callously burned a child to death. And because he had evicted his conscience, it had never mattered to him.

Now his conscience was home and happy and hard at work, and Pete’s anguished screams woke many on his block that night.