Forcing it

I’ve been trying to write a short story. No particular story, which has been the problem. I tinkered with old, unfinished manuscripts, started something new and stalled after about 500 words. Realized that it was actually a reinvention of another story I began two or three years ago that I never found a thread through.

You see, there’s this anthology that I wanted to submit something to. When the guidelines were announced a while back, the editor told me he hoped I’d send him a story. He liked one of my other stories, so that gave me an idea of what he was looking for in tone and style, which is often enough for me to come up with a tale.

Not this time. I wasn’t getting anywhere. I wrote a book review (The Ruins by Scott Smith—grab it when it comes out in mid-July!). I played computer games and posted on message boards. Words weren’t coming. Story ideas were coming, but not stories. The anthology deadline is coming up very soon, and I was starting to feel a little self-imposed pressure.

Yesterday, at work, I heard an interview on the radio and one vignette from the half-hour conversation struck a chord in my mind. It was more than an idea, it was a plot. Not the exact content of the anecdote, but the spark that my mind latched onto and ran with. I scrawled a few notes on a piece of paper and researched another somewhat related event that I’d heard about that I thought melded well with my spark. Couldn’t wait to get home to start on it. I grabbed the leatherbound ledger that sits on my nightstand and started working on it long-hand while I watched House with one eye. Wrote 800 words last night and transcribed them this morning and added another thousand. Continued to ruminate about the tale while in the shower.

I don’t know where it’s going, although I had a couple of ideas. Not sure if they work, won’t know that until I get there, but I know that something can work. That this 1800-word beginning can turn into a good story. It’s a little bit wryer than my usual fare, and it has the possibility of being bloodier than usual, too.

But it’s not the story I was trying to force out, and I’m not convinced that it will be appropriate to the anthology that got me all worked up in the first place. That ship may have sailed. We’ll see. It doesn’t matter all that much, though I would have liked to have been part of the project. What matters is the story, which if it proves to be any good will find a home somewhere. I’m just thrilled after a week to be creating again.