Drugs suck. They suck because they're lying assholes that promise you a rosy escape without telling you the price. They suck because I'll-only-try-this-once is a gateway to hell from which the road leads you one way and one way only. Down. They suck because they extend to you a helping hand, but when you grab it, there is nothing to hold on to. They suck because they change you who you are. They rob you of yourself. They mash you into gobs of misery that nobody around you will recognize for who you were before. They suck because they have no morals, they don't care for age. In fact, they love those tender hormone-overflowing angsty teenagers who seek some way to assert their control over life, to show everyone that they can do it on their own.
Read MoreWhat every story needs
Photo by Ksenia Anske
Photo by Ksenia Anske
I've been spontaneously writing short (or very short) stories lately. Dunno where they come from. I think it's time I start on my next book? Is that what my brain is telling me? Anyway. Rereading them reminded me of something I have heard for the first time at Chuck Palahniuk's reading several years ago. He read a couple of his short stories, and someone in the audience asked what every story needs. If there are any rules, any elements that make for a great short story. I was just beginning to write back then, awestruck by the brilliance of Fight Club. I leaned forward with bated breath, ready to record every precious word, heaving a sigh, chocking on my own impatience. This is what Chuck said.
EVERY STORY NEEDS:
- A clock.
- A birth.
- A death.
- 3 elements that repeat (starting from page 1).
- Make reader do 4 things: feel smarter than you, laugh, cry, be sick.
Another short story, about autumn
This is ridiculous. I was tired and I tried to nap. I put my head on the pillow. I heard crows cry in the street. I started seeing this picture in my head, reached for the phone, typed in one sentence. Put it away. Tried to nap again. No luck. The story started developing in my mind. I couldn't stop it, dammit! So now, no nap, but here is the story.
CROWS.
Crows are autumn. The sign of autumn. Their "cra-cra-cra" and then another "cra" like a period at the end of a sentence...hanging in the air. And the colors. The burned sienna. The fire of maples. The cold sun. You'd think it would warm your face, but it's only there for show.
The damp chill after the rain. Puddles glistening like mirrors.
"Cra-cra-cra," go the crows.
"Shhh, I hear you," goes the wind.
MAD TUTU Writing Competition Winner!
I know you've been waiting breathlessly for this. I've been waiting too, because the entries were so good, so unbelievably good, it was very hard to choose the winner. Nonetheless, one stood out from the crowd. Namely, it made me laugh so hard, that I tinkled in my pants a little. But you all already know I do this anyway, daily. No surprise there. To refresh your memory what this madness was about, last week one of my readers had this wild idea that I should do a writing competition, when I whined how hard it is to find great indie authors and indie books, and how I want to help people discover amazing new voices. I thought, okay, why not? And so Mad Tutu Writing Competition was born. I got 20 submissions, and I think I will do it again, because reading them was a delight. The terms were:
- Write a 1,000 words max short story with magic in it. And make sure it's funny.
- Mention an elephant, a tutu, a breathalyzer, beer-flavored lollipops, a brick and a purse.
- Send a picture of yourself in character (I scratched that, the quality of pics was bad).
- The winner gets to be featured on my blog and gets 1 of my signed paperbacks.
Below you will find the winning entry (get ready, you will pee your pants, I guarantee it) and there rest of the entries underneath, in the order they were submitted (so don't think the one on the top is because it's somehow better than the one on the bottom), with author names and links to their entries as PDF files (you can click on them to upload them). And underneath ALL THAT you will find a PDF file with ALL the entires combined, if you wanted to just read them all.
Read MoreWriter's dream
This happened today. I saw a dream. I read my pages to a major publisher. They offered me a contract. I woke up. I forgot what the pages were about. It was something new, something I haven't written before. A new novel. "Fuck!" I thought. "I can't remember what it was about! I remember the dream, but not the pages!" It slipped me. I told my boyfriend. He said, "Write it down." I said, "But I can't remember!" He said, "No, the dream. Write it into a short story." So I did. Took me a couple hours. It's only 1,600 words. Well, 1,595. To be exact. Here it is.
WRITER'S DREAM
A short story by Ksenia Anske
I read. I want to read, but they’re first, so I just stand there. And the woman says, she says, “You’re next”. And the boy starts reading. Boy. He’s a boy to me. In his twenties, lanky. “Read the last two chapters”, she says. He stammers a little, nervous. Then opens up, chest out. Proud. I can’t listen. I want to, can’t. Something...it’s scary. What if they tell me it’s horrid, what if...or not. Who knows. What can I do? Wait. It slips out of my hands. Sweaty. I press it to my breast, my left breast, where the heart. He’s not done yet. He got into it. What rage. Primitive. His sentences are primitive. Not the good kind. The stupid kind. Is that okay to think? Stupid. I’m stupid. What am I doing here? How did I get here? I can’t remember.
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