Writing Fiction: A Short Story Exercise for Writers

As one who loves to write, I have come to recognize that creativity is something that I can never take for granted. Like anything else, it is something that once acquired, must be honed, and must be exercised. That said, the following is the beginning of an exercise that you can follow along with and, if you’re serious about writing fiction, can duplicate the exercise (but not the work).

It will work like this:

• I will start a story at or near the end. Such stories have been around for many years and present their own unique challenges.

• There will be no outline.

• I will have no idea how the story will really end, nor even how it began–only how it begins near the ending.

• At the end of each segment, I will write a single word. The reason is that in the beginning of the next segment, I must use that word in a substantive manner within the first paragraph.

• Somewhere in the story, I must do something I’ve never done before. In other words, I will attempt to “stretch” myself. It’s easy for a writer to get comfortable in his or her “zone” and stay “write” there.

Once a week (or maybe two, or sometime three), I’ll work on the story. There are no guarantees as to where I’ll stop each time, to wit, it may be right before a dramatic scene. I will stop when and where I choose. Some portions of the story will be longer than others. I’ll keep the entire story on another website and give the url (after the first couple segments) so it can be read completely, and not in bits and pieces, though you can read it that way, if you choose. The reader is free to critique, if he or she desires, or to offer suggestions or changes or ideas. If I like the idea or suggestion, I may incorporate it.

That said, here’s the beginning of the end, sans Title (since I’ve no idea yet of where this is going or what it’s going to be about).

[UNTITLED AS YET...]

At least the pain will only last a second or two. Jacob Carson’s mind then began a kind of free-fall with his body, whipping events through his brain faster than the wind was rushing past his body as he plummeted towards the ground.

He felt no fear. He knew he was about to die and there was not a thing he could do about it. Perhaps it was that absolute certainty about death that stripped him of fear; or perhaps it was the total wonder of it all: hurtling towards the ground without a parachute and having had no time to really think about it. He was caught up in the moment, living his last few seconds in a blur of speed.

It’s a picture of how I’ve lived, isn’t it, God? Fast. Life's been a rush, for sure.

Inwardly, he grimaced. Who’d ever believe that I’m about to die and I’m having this mental conversation with God about living?

He’d ignored God for so long that he knew praying was a worthless endeavor. God would just ignore him. And, Carson was not a man to grovel. He’d never begged for a single thing in his twenty-nine years and he’d not begin now–not even for his life.

Sorry I let you down, God.

He watched as the earth rushed to greet him.

***
"snow"

To be continued...

Copyright 2008 - Voyle A. Glover