Being there

I’m having trouble dipping into the creative center of my brain. By now, I’m pressed against the deadline that I’ve set for myself and I’m feeling that familiar pressure build. This is usually the place that I get the best and most of my writing done. Still, I falter. I can’t pick on an image that sticks. Instead, I get shreds of details and passing characters. Like this:

In 1959, Charlie Armstrong was discharged from the United States Army. On his way out, he made one last stop at the army post exchange. There, with the contents of his back account, he bought twelve pairs of pants and four dozen pairs of socks. The clothes were sturdy cotton and though simple in cut, well made. He didn’t look back.

In his brief stint, he had seen enough. It wasn’t the close calls of warfare and all its horrors that had left an impression on him. He was never deployed. Still, it was the men around him that seemed to leave a mark on him.

And that’s it. Who is Charlie Armstrong? I know where he came from, but the story still remains.

I get asked, “How’s it coming?” from the next room and feel a sense of expectation to produce this great new, finished piece. Eventually, I will. The thoughts in my head will be cannibalized and stitched into different pieces. Charlie Armstrong is up for alteration. He could turn up five years from now as a little girl orphan in an army surplus jacket. That’s how writing is for me. There is no formula, no magic moment to set me off. Instead, I wait until I can write, then I write.

I’m going to use the example of Charlie Armstrong to illustrate how I write five hundred word stories. The first step is to get an idea that is complete and not too sprawling. Generally character portraits or vignettes about daily life work best. Anything spanning time and place gets complicated. Still, it can be done. You think of your story and then write it completely out from start to finish.

In 1959, Charlie Armstrong was discharged from the United States Army. On his way out, he made one last stop at the army post exchange. There, with the contents of his back account, he bought twelve pairs of pants and four dozen pairs of socks. The clothes were sturdy cotton and though simple in cut, well made. He didn’t look back.

In his brief stint, he had seen enough. It wasn’t the close calls of warfare and all its horrors that had left an impression on him. He was never deployed. Still, it was the men around him that seemed to leave a mark on him.

This is 109 words. For this example, the story should be fifty words. The next process is editing. I’ll cut out and reorder things so that I’m left with the intact, albeit (sometimes) different, image. The first things to cut out are generally adverbs, needless adjectives, and any transitional words. It’s up to the writer to decide what is important.

Charlie Armstrong was discharged from the army. On his way out, he made one last stop at the surplus. He bought pants and socks. The clothes were sturdy, simple, and well made.

He had seen enough. Not the close calls of war, but the men around him. He didn’t look back.

Fifty-one words. Generally, stories end up being a word more or less. Rather than try to find an article to erase out, I leave it. It’s close enough to count as fifty. What’s left behind tends to be more succinct and direct. Gone are phrases like “seemed to be” or “looked like.” Everything is forced to be.