- There are three rules for writing the novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are. ~ W. Somerset Maugham (1874 - 1965)
I was suddenly giddy: I had been meaning to write a short story all year long, and the fact that it was now a challenge made it so much more interesting. But there was always the first word: the word that was impossible to write.
To coax my muse (ha! but I actually don't have one), I tried reading short-stories, the types I loved: the ones published in the New Yorker. I read two: one was Stone Mattress by Margaret Atwood , and the other was Literally by Antonya Nelson. I had read Atwood's works before, but that was the first time of my reading Nelson's; I couldn't help searching for more of her fiction on the net. And found one. And read that too. So in total I read three short stories, and did that help me write? No. Yes. No. I don't know.
Writing fiction is so much more difficult than non-fiction, I realized too late. Plus, I longed to write a story in the third-person point of view, which I had never managed before. So there I was under all the pressures: there were only a few days before December ended! I didn't want to lose on this challenge! I wanted to write a story in the 3rd person POV! I wanted the story to be beautiful!
Desperate to start, I thought that perhaps I could use Atwood's first sentence in Stone Mattress for my story: "At the outset Verna had not intended to kill anyone." Oh how perfect it would be, I thought, to have that line as the opener of my story, a nice pretty story under which title I would write: "The first line is taken from Margaret Atwood's story, Stone Mattress." How....romantic. But nothing was happening. I couldn't write a word of my own; for days my story consisted only of those words stolen from Ms Atwood.
Dang.
Finally I took out my writing pad, and began scribbling in it. A story began to take shape, a Verna was in it, also a Richard. "Verna" I stole from Ms Atwood's story, while "Richard" was yanked from Ms Nelson's story.
Into the story I put iron benches, dirty stove, old used bed, the things I knew from real life. It never occurred to me that writing fiction can be so exhausting - I have to admit I cried writing parts of the story, and felt stupid about it, and had to stop writing because it was so hard - and finally admitted that I didn't have enough "writing muscle" to finish a theme so big.
What I wanted to actually capture in the story was a great loss, and the serenity that came with accepting a loss. Turned out that I'm too inexperienced to write fiction, not to mention such a delicate theme. I hit the "publish" button on my Fiction Blog, however, just for the sake of not losing this month's writing challenge. Ha.
When I re-read it, I see all the ugly words, all the hastiness of an impatient writer, the theme being drowned in bad diction. I liked my other story, On Things Mother Said, better. "On Things Mother Said" was written in the first-person, which was easier for me. Perhaps at my ripe old age, writing in the 3rd person is just too difficult. Hm.
All in all however, it felt good to be writing. It felt good to be writing fiction. Already I am sitting with my notepad, thinking of other things to write about.
Ah. At a ripe old age, but hopefully still optimistic, I am.
