Friday, March 29, 2013

Fault: An excerpt

The following is an excerpt from my short story "Fault":

He was probably twelve or thirteen, the same as his son now, when he’d walked into the kitchen to see, spread across the Sunday paper, the pieces of his father’s pistol. Each part laying there as if placed delicately, awaiting cleaning. The black metal was innocent, innocuous. Taken individually one could hardly see the violence in each. Together, though, they were a threat. A threat cared for. A loving task to fill an afternoon. And yet he’d been as nervous as he’d ever been in the vicinity of that gun.

It was only later that Matt realized that he could have stolen one of those pieces, one dull piece, chucked over the back fence and been rid of that threat.

And now, thirty years later, it was as if it was his fault that the gun that pointed at him even existed. That some stranger was threatening him with it. If it fired, if before him there was a tiny explosion that propelled the bullet in his direction, it would be his fault. It would be because he had fled from the kitchen without acting.

It would be one of many reasons. It would be because he had believed that owning this river resort was a good idea. Because he thought he’d spend his evenings near campfires, his days floating the river. His wife could mind the store where they sold bait and sunscreen and gossip. His son would grow up exposed to a variety of people.

And that it wasn’t exactly like that was his fault.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

When the Writing Isn't Easy


Sometimes sitting down to write isn't terribly easy. There is always this balance between letting the mind wander freely, to discover as you progress, and having a thorough plan so you don't just end up wandering pointlessly. This morning, that's where I am. I know the overall course, but I don't want to frame it all out too completely. Yet, I'm afraid to put my pen to the paper without knowing exactly where it is I'm heading. 

I shouldn't worry. I know that. It is a first draft. I will spend a lot of time chopping it up and reshaping it. So, no need to worry about it now. I've read so many novels, though, that seem to go through these periods of wandering. Chapters that seem to serve very little purpose except to stall until the action can advance.

I also am easily hooked on what I've written. Reshaping, reordering, and adding are easy. Stripping away the unnecessary is more difficult. I always look and find hints of what is to come. Elements of the character that seem critical to the reader. How can I cut what is so fundamental?

I need to be harder on my own writing. I need to be willing to be heartless. Also, I must remember that all first drafts are shit. It is always more important to forge on.

Friday, March 22, 2013

The Latest Bunch of Short Stories

The demands on a person can be many. From travelling for work to engaging with the children, finding time for other activities (like blogging) can seem practically impossible. That said, the past year has been pretty productive.

Since finishing the last draft of my latest novel manuscript, Another Blade of Grass, and setting it aside before query agents, I returned to short fiction. After spending two years working on a single work, it was a relief to turn to things with entirely different elements. The requirements of short fiction are fewer than the novel. It is easier to try different things, attempt different effects. And I wanted to purge myself of some of the ideas that had been floating around for some time.

I think the change was well worth the effort. I churned out six short stories that are already making the submission-rejection circuit. At least it feels like it's going full circle.

So, over the next few weeks, I'll present excerpts of each of the new stories. Just the first couple of paragraphs to give you a feeling for the direction of the new work. Any feedback you care to give will be appreciated.

Since this bout of short fiction, I've returned to the longer form, spurred on by an idea my wife provided. The notion stirred in my head for a few days, the story ever expanding, and I knew that I'd better get writing.