I've missed a few weeks of #ThursThreads due to work and life commitments, also I've been focusing on working on my current WIP. Sometimes the prompts don't call to me, so I don't try to force it. My better ones have been when an idea comes quickly.
I've had some conversations with writer friends on just how we come up with our ideas. For some, they are able to curate an idea by asking questions. Others just have the ideas come to them and then its a matter of writing them down. I think I'm somewhere in the middle.
For short stories or flash fiction, just coming up with an idea is usually enough to encapsulate what I want to write about. Usually. But it's the longer stories, the ones that go over multiple chapters that entails more work.
When I get an idea, I know how it will start and how I want it to end or resolve. It's paving the way between those two points that I need to figure out. The journey of the characters on how they grow or change or what they experience. That takes asking questions on what they would do, what their motivation would be, etc.
For the longest time, I had thought myself as a plotter. I had outlines, character sketches, research on locations, etc. It was to help keep me from wandering off from the main plot line. However, recently, I've been trying my hand at pantsing. I know how I want it to end, and usually I already have the ending written, so it's just a matter of getting there. Being able to keep that in mind has helped me from going off the rails... but it also means that the story may end up being longer than I anticipated.
Case in point, my current WIP started out as a single chapter "one-shot" for a writing challenge in June. It is now six chapters in with an estimated total of 10 chapters and will probably exceed 50k words. I will continue to work on it into Nanowrimo and then move on to my next story idea.
In the meantime, doing #ThursThreads continues to be a fun writing exercise. I participated last week and didn't realize I modified the prompt. *facepalm* Still not a bad entry, just not it. I was pretty happy with what I wrote, with the visuals and it is a bit darker than my usual, and not my usual genre (do I have a usual genre?). Next time, gotta pay attention to those details.
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Week 631:
The prompt: "So, that was how he ended his life."
Detective Jackson flips to a clean page in his notebook and begins taking notes as forensics process the scene, putting down evidence markers and taking photos.
The blue and reds from on top of the squads add to the chaos of the scene, creating disturbing shadows in the corners of the alley.
Jackson’s partner, Martinez, joins him, eyes taking in the carnage. “So…”
“That’s how he ended his life,” Jackson finishes.
“Didn’t think he had it in him.”
“I’m not entirely sure he did.”
Martinez takes a closer look at the position of the body, the weapon, and accompanying splatter. “Looks like it was suicide. What makes you think otherwise? What has forensics come back with?”
Jackson jots a few more notes down, kneeling in front of the dead man. “We know this guy. He had no reason to end his life. There is more here than we currently know.”
“He could’ve been fighting depression or something, Rhys. We don’t know.”
"True, but I still think there is something else going on. My gut says this wasn’t suicide.”
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Week 632:
This week was fun and more successful. Not only did I manage to not mess up the prompt, I didn't flip tenses or change POVs (head-hopping) .... and I won! Check out all the entries here.
The prompt: “I’ll make it brief.”
“I’ll make it brief,” Azrael explained, his voice bored. “You died.”
“What? How is that possible?” The man before Azrael glanced down at himself, looking for some logical explanation for his current predicament, a grievous injury or something obviously wrong. He looked as hale and hearty as one could, as much as a disembodied soul could.
“Your heart stopped. Brain function ended. You ceased to be. Hence: dead,” he replied sardonically, with a wave of his hand.
The man huffed before the Angel of Death. “Yes, but how?”
Azrael rolled his eyes. They always want to know the details. “Is that relevant now? It doesn’t matter how. You’re still dead and will continue to be dead. Neverending deadness.”
The soul sighed. “I guess not.” He looked around at the nondescript large warehouse they were in. There was a large queue of people in front of him. “Where are we?”
“Soul Sorting Center – like Hogwarts but without the magical hat and wizards.”
“What?”
Azrael unfurled his wings. “Look, I must go, more souls to collect. You humans never stop dying. Just get in line and once they call your number, you’ll find out where you’re headed.”
A deli ticker tape number appeared in the soul’s hand. “How many places are there?”
“You’ll find out. Enjoy your eternity. Hope it doesn’t get to hot for you.” Azrael disappears in a sweep of feathers.
The soul holds up his number: 65,352
A raspy voice calls over the PA system. “Now judging 7192.”
