short shorts [not the article of clothing]

photo credit: http://www.aspieweb.net.

     My Fictional Writing professor describes "short shorts" as being stories of 750 words or less. Since we've read through about six now in our class, I'd amend this to say that they're depressing stories of 750 words or less. ahahah what I mean is, when you're only writing for less than two pages, you gotta get to the juice of the story right away, and for a lot of tales, that involves cutting off all happy parts [because honestly, who wants to read about someone with a perfect life? so boring. you wanna read about heartache, death and betrayal]. I include my own stories in this, seeing as the story I read Wednesday in class was barely a third of the max. word count and I had heartbreak and two deaths [not so much betrayal, or at least not intentional betrayal]. 

     But what's even more fun than the fact that we just read and discussed our stories in class Wednesday and will be doing the same in class today, is that I'm absolutely loving this form of writing. The one we turned in Wednesday was supposed to be the second one we've written this quarter, but when I wrote it, I had already written as many as I'll be required to turn in by the end of the course [and I'm sure I'll write more than a couple more]. When I write longer pieces [i.e. novel length] I can never NEVER finish the story. I've started oh so many stories and have gotten pretty far on a couple, but never have I ever completely finished one. Until now. Sure, with only 750 words to spare, I can really develop my characters the way I'd like to, but there's something about bringing something to life in such a short piece that is really incredible. 

Here's the "short short" I wrote for Wednesday [it's still kinda rough, but we're going over it in class again today]:

A DEAD GIRL’S SEAT

 A young man holds a borrowed pistol to his temple and ends his life with a quick shifting of his finger on the trigger.

Earlier that morning, the young man stares at a new face across from him in the boat, the memory of her face pulling at his mind.

Earlier that week, the young man stands with his teammates, watching the wooden box holding her cold body being lowered slowly into the damp earth.

Earlier that month, the young man watches through the rear-view mirror as the trunk door flies open and her small form falls out behind them, crashing to the dark cement.

Earlier that drive back from practice, the young man jokes that he would press the button on the dashboard that opens the trunk, then presses it, not believing that it would ever open when the van was going at 70 mph on a crowded highway.

Earlier that morning after practice, the young man slams the trunk door behind her, watching her smile that was large enough to engulf the sea.

Earlier that morning before practice, the young man miscounted how many seats the team needed to get all of the rowers and their two coxswains back to campus.

The night before, the young man pulled her warm body closer to him in his bed, nuzzled his face into her neck and told her that she was not only his favorite coxswain, but the love of his life.

Word count: 242

*style adapted from Hannah Bottomy’s “Currents”

So exciting things coming up: 1) going to see Jack's Mannequin in the city with my friend Molly. 2) Head of the Lagoon next weekend. 3) it's raining here.

Currently listening to: "Into Your Arms" by the Maine. love them.