Three years ago, I launched ‘Just Write, Right’ to challenge myself to place a greater emphasis on my creative practice. I thought I should mark the occasion; the temptation of a practice in the (modestly sized, in my case) ‘public eye’ is to come up with a snappily expressed ‘side project’ so your celebration can be discovered and amplified. Of course, I gave in to that temptation before recognising, as the weeks went by, that writing is fickle enough not to shape itself around the writer’s intentions. I may have set myself a challenge but I failed to hit my own target. Instead of beating myself up for that, I am celebrating the discernment that won’t allow me to publish for the sake of it. Quality, not quantity, is my watchword.
I hope that some folk read some of the stories on offer … maybe readers will sense the joy I felt in writing them.
The Challenge: Thirty days, thirty stories. In most cases, I hope to take a prompt or title from something I wrote previously to see if I can come up with something fresh. But I want to leave the door open for new ideas … it is generally the case that the more I write, the more ideas and words bubble to the surface. This is a project with boundaries but few constraints.
“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
―Albert Camus
So, how did the writing go this week, Barrie?
It has been a stiflingly hot week in our corner of rural France; as I once wrote in a story called ‘Mopping Up’ (more of that shortly):
The post-lunch heat seared onto dusty streets. You could fry crocchè di patatte on the bonnet of a vintage Fiat Cinquecento if you were minded to.
Hiding from the heat gave me the time to write, but the brain-sapping intensity left me floundering for any focus that might ramp up my productivity to meet the self-imposed word count target I hoped to reach.
I found myself at peace with this.
It turned out three stories was this week’s work. I revisited a previous prompt, one that feeds off the dystopian state of current affairs we are living through. There was ‘Mopping Up’ - a much-loved story from a couple of years back - re-written from the perspective of a different character in the original. And a fresh prompt (one offered by Ten Thousand Journeys in 2024 and saved until now) about a chance encounter in a railway station waiting room.
Of the three, ‘And So It Begins’ feels less substantial than the other two, perhaps reminiscent of some of my earlier pieces. Fortunately, I am already rather fond of the other two … they both feel like progression, an evolution of my writing style.
THE STORIES
THOUGHTS ON A MONTH OF FICTION WRITING
Try as you might, you cannot wring a good story out of a dry cloth. The tales will tell themselves when they are ready. Find peace with that.
Flash fiction is a playground … you fall, you get up again; you scuff your knees and drop your pen; other kids are better at stuff than you. But you learn.
As a writer, you will love some stories more than others. BUT, don’t make that judgement for your readers. They will see things you don’t, connect with emotions that mean more to them in the way you express them … a writer only starts a story, a reader finishes it.
If the writing isn’t bringing you joy, go and do something that does.
Staring at a screen is NOT where the ideas are … outdoors, immersed in life, doing things; that’s where the stories are. Make notes, remember prompts, write later.
Edit, edit, edit.
Always say thank you to the folk who read your work and encourage you.
Read voraciously.
Don’t pad out your list of lessons to make it a rounded up ‘Top Ten’.
THE COLLECTION
Week Three: Friday Fiction, when I realised that there would not be thirty new stories in thirty days but I found I was okay with that.
THE END
I say a resounding YES to every single one of of your “Thoughts”.