I love simplicity. In my home. In my closet. In my brain. No surprise, then, that I am a big fan of the Six Word Memoir project by Smith Magazine, an online magazine devoted to storytelling. When I read or listen, I want to know the point. I also write for young children, so I'm well-trained in editing the superfluous. Less than 500 words spread over thirty-two pages is the norm.
Photo by Natasha Reed
Ernest Hemingway is with me. “My aim is to put down on paper what I see and what I feel in the best and simplest way,” he said. In fact, when challenged to write a complete story in six words, he wrote: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”
Yet, writing succinctly—the art of using as few words as necessary —is a challenging feat for most writers. We can confuse the use of multiple adjectives and adverbs as a sign of better writing.
Benefits of Succint-nicity
Can I make up a word like Succint-nicity in a writing blog? I say yes!
The benefits to adding some streamlined “Shazam” to you writing are, well, clear:
- You get your point across quickly and are more easily understood.
- You avoid writing fatigue and re-discover the joy of writing.
- You push your own creative boundaries as you search for how to be more poetic—more lean, artful, impactful—with less.
Three Techniques for Shortening and Energizing your Writing
Ready to practice the art of writing succinctly? Here are three techniques you can use:
1. Write in incomplete sentences.
Yep, I said it. When I edit 4th graders essay on “how to blow a bubble,” we talk about a subject and verb in every sentence. But we writers have artistic license. Say you're describing the upheaval at a company. You could say: The company is experiencing a lot of tension right now as many employees are arguing about the best path to take. Or you could write: The company is on a crazy-fast growth path. Tempers are short. Opinions fast. Decisions faster. Inner turmoil and turnover.
2. Use fewer, stronger adjectives.
For example, “The ugly, big, green, scary emotion of jealously consumed Peter when he found out Phil was dating Bridgett” can be “A monstrous jealousy consumed Peter when he spotted Phil and Bridgett at the diner.”
3. Write like you are talking to a friend.
Before you put pen to paper, it's often helpful to say aloud what you're trying to communicate. You'll hear a more informal, friendly tone that you can incorporate into your writing. “I want to meet him more than I want to eat a pan of brownies” might be something you'd quip to a friend. Fun to read in writing, too!
How about you? How do you write more with less?
PRACTICE
Do you ever use wayyy more words than necessary? For today's practice, free write out a thought, directive, or description. If you're in the midst of writing a book, re-look at one of your sentences or paragraphs. Then, try your hand at succinctly re-writing it. Trimming the unncessary. Trading ten words for six. Adding oomph where there was on and on and on.
Free write for fifteen minutes. When your time is up, post your practice in the comments section. And if you post, be sure to leave comments on a few practices by other writers.
I trimmed a 126 word paragraph to 70, and I’m wayyy more satisfied with it now! (Thanks to this post)
…
Anticipation nailed my legs to the ground. Can’t move. Isaak’s push bring my senses back. To get on the platform, Liam offers me an irresolute arm that I squeeze. Too hard.
Still, the platform is more stable than I thought. Flat calm, at last. I’m so comfortable, in fact, that I startle when it moves. I almost forgot the purpose of this.
I’m dragged in the mouth of the cave.
…
Oooooh intriguing!
I love the pacing of this. It has a wonderful lead up to the last sentence which sounds like it could be the cliffhanger at the end of a chapter! I can see the image of this very clearly in my head even though I know nothing else about the story.
The only critique is that there’s a weird read between sentence three and four. It feels like it should continue but the extra full stop seems jarring and unnatural. I had to read it a couple of times since my brain wigged out when reading it.
All in all, a brilliant 70 words!
You’re totally right! I’ll see about making this flow better 😉
Thanks!
“Flat calm, at last” is my favorite phrase in the paragraph. It says so much with so few words. Each word in that wee thought is necessary and purposeful!
Yes, I love it when a very short sentence hides so many unsaid words. Like your example of Hemingway’s six-word story. Perfect.
Thanks a lot!
I would suggest cutting the “I’m”.
Flat calm, at last. So comfortable, in fact, that I startle when it moves….
I noticed you improved it. It reads much clearer now. Excellent writing.
When I read it out loud, it’s much better indeed.
Thanks for noticing!
you hooked me! Great last line and loved the “I’m so comfortable, in fact, I startle when it moves” Eerie and provocative. Great tight writing!
Thanks, tight was the goal!
Damn…
Nicely done. I agree with you that the I’m removal tightened the story line and I want to know the rest of the story… what caused the flat calm… whats the purpose in the story,(?) hooked!
Hi guys, this is my first time posting! Can’t wait to read everyone’s pieces and get some good feedback!! Got no existing story to fix so this kind of came out of nowhere and I tried to think as if I was writing to a friend! Hope it’s not horrible 🙂
~~
Gretel buried her face in her hands. He was looking at her again. Henry, that bratty little man who wouldn’t go a day without having a go at her. She hated him so much. The way he talked about her behind her back to all those people in Geography class. She didn’t even know why but she knew he was evil. What kind of vendetta did he have against her anyway?
As Ms. Herald called for the class’ end Gretel didn’t even realise until the teacher called her name and everyone in the room had left. “Sorry Miss,” she muttered, angered by her own distraction. As Gretel walked out of the door, a hand grabbed her arm. Shocked, one loose but heavy book slipped out from under her arm and fell on Henry’s toe.
The bully yelped and grabbed his shoe, swearing, “I think you broke it you little hag!” Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes but Gretel was an opportunist and she wasn’t about to let this one slide.
With all her strength she kicked him in the shin and took off at a run towards the locker room, books buried into her chest. Henry howled from behind her, making her grin ear to ear. Revenge was sweet and rebel was exhilarating. She threw her head back as the wind whipped at her brown hair letting out a booming, thankful laugh.
Sweet revenge 🙂
I liked your last sentence the best, the fact that her laugh was ‘booming’ and ‘thankful’ revealed a lot about Gretel, I thought.
I enjoyed reading this piece, and I think it’s very nice considering it ‘coming out of nowhere’ ! Succinctly speaking, (yeah, that’s commonly said, right?) it might be fun to try to embody your first paragraph in less sentences. I felt like every sentence could be resumed to: Henry. Damn, I hate him.
But it was a nice and funny reading!
Oh, and since this is your first time, I felt I should add this: Welcome!
Welcome!
I think you could trim this one up some more, but it is an excellent snippet. I can identify with the character. Thanks for sharing.
Welcome Marianne! So glad to have you here with us.
Why thank you Sophie!
A welcome challenge! Change “on and on” to “no and no more.”
Thank u.
Pencil is a tool for both human art, activities for artists, writers, good success.
Loved this! Add the fact you mention Hemingway, and I had just picked up a book about him, and I am hooked! Love your words and ideas… so joining in with my practice for today.
“I think about what we, all of us, don’t know and realize I don’t really know
anything. Why is there a sun, what about that leaf? Why am I living here? What is my life about? Questions that bring back that dream.
Flying,more like swooshing, in a reddish dark, heading towards a distant lake. Even in the dark, it looks familiar, but I don’t know why. Standing by the lake is my last ex-husband. Unlike other husbands and friends that check back in once in a while, or allow me to check on them, I haven’t heard from him at all.
I feel his sorrow and confusion. It seems to be about something he did to, or about, me. Once he told a mutual friend that it was all my fault. That’s what he wanted me to believe, but that time, I knew it wasn’t. Doesn’t matter anymore, either in wide-awake life, or in the dark outline of my dream. I just feel his sorrow.
I am passing over others, people I know, but can’t place. Gliding just above their heads and lightly brushing the tops of their hair. Giggling to myself,
wondering if they feel that touch or just think it was the wind. I know I am
telling them all is well, they are loved.
I fly just a little over and past him and turn to face him. Does he see me? I reach down with my words and say, “Don’t worry, I’m an angel.”
Poof! Dream over, but I still remember it as if it happened just a few minutes
ago. Always makes me wonder if I was saying that to him, or to myself.
Which just reminds me once again, I don’t know anything at all.”
A little strange and hard to follow. I felt like the idea behind it was great. The potential is here.
It had lots of nonsensical reflections of the character. It has repetition of “I don’t know” throughout it. The reflections really add up to the reader not knowing anything about the story or the character or the husband. It does, in that sense, speak poetically about not knowing. But, I’m not sure that was the intended purpose.
A lot of telling versus showing.
“I feel his sorrow and confusion.”
Lots and lots of wishy-washy insertions. “seems” “he did to, or about, me.”
Sorry I missed the point of this piece. Would love to know what you are trying to do with it. Thanks for sharing!
Thanks James. Gives me a lot to think about. It was about not knowing .. and I see how that didn’t really come across. Perhaps because in my mind it was part of a bigger whole, but that wasn’t the point here was it. I appreciate your comments!
An excellent post! Thank you Marianne!
——————————–
“Why do people do this?” Chris yelled into the windshield. “It’s called rush hour for a reason people! Get the hell outta my way!”
Chris jerked the steering wheel, cutting off a blue pickup in the left lane, and passing the red Ferrari with a roaring press to his gas petal. He never saw the disapproving gaze of the mother or the newborn sleeping in the back.
“It’s a Ferrari dumbass! Use it!” He immediately slammed his brakes. Ahead were miles of empty highway, but immediately in front of him dallied a blue Impala driving ten under the speed limit.
Profanities flew out of his mouth with spittle. “Can’t be late!” He pressed his vehicle just inches from the pokey driver’s bumper. He shifted the vehicle to the right, tires touching the dotted white line, and threw up his hand resting on the open window. He shifted to the left, edging his Civic around the other side. His tires screamed upon the rumble strip, but the warnings of danger went
unheeded.
He slammed his hands against the steering wheel. His face turned blood red when his vocal chords rattled out a scream. “Move! You old bastard!”
A yellow flashing right blinker answered his wrath, but his tailgating continued unforgivingly until the vehicle slid aside. As his vehicle lurched forward with an uproar, Chris felt justified in sending a message with his middle finger, but before he flipped the proverbial sign at the man in the blue car, he found a woman sitting there with a gun pointed at him. He gasped.
To die, all for what? His anger left with the wind rushing through his hair, replaced by a cold sweat. He had two little kids at home. He wasn’t even in his thirties. What the hell am I doing?
His head remained cocked toward the passenger window, eyes pleading against her vengeful stare, asking for what he had refused to yield all morning:
forgiveness.
I loved how you moved this story towards this ending. It was so real – and the message was beautiful. Your word pictures of what was happening scared me .. very good!
Thank you so much. I was worried it might sound too preachy or forced.
Wow! What pacing. I was getting highly annoyed by this dude … Until he met his match. Super curious about what happens next. I bet you could condense even more. Profanities flew. Is out of his mouth necessary? Thinking no…
Thanks!
Profanities flew… yep, but for some reason I think the spit flying along with the profanities adds to the intense and especially compulsive anger.
“Spit rode on the profanities falling from his lips.”
Still doesn’t cut the details, but it sounds funny without them and with the spit.
Thanks though!
I love that all along, I wondered what would happen next…
but the single last word switched my mind and I wanted to know what had happened before. Very nice piece!
Great last line, James. I really like how this turned completely around with a few simple words: “he found a woman sitting there with a gun pointed at him.” Nice. Definitely not preachy one bit.
Thanks so much!
I wanted to take something from my daily life and breath life into it, with a message I could believe in.
I think you’d like my Broken short story.
Ooh! Now, that was shocking! Good ending. Hard to find a mistake in this thing. *glances up at the story again* Yup. Excellent. 🙂
Thank you very much!
I do make an effort to submit quality material, unless I’m rough-drafting out a new scene in my novel on here.
You do submit quality material though! I’ve read a few of your pieces, and there has been very little margin for error (at least from my POV). 😀
Good work with the surprise at the end. I like “dallied” in reference to the blue Impala!
Great advice!
Strunk and White’s classic “The Elements of Style” also has a lot of advice on this subject.
Whenever I edit, I take on the mindset that every phrase, every clause, every sentence has an optimal way of being written such that it conveys the same amount of information in the least possible words. (36 words)
I try to condense each sentence to the fewest and best words possible that still reflect its original intent. (19 words)
I personally love the mental puzzle of figuring it out!
Me too! Which often makes me to spend too much time editing…. 🙁
There is no such thing as spending too much time editing, just as you can never add too many ideas when being creative. Let yourself write the good with the bad. Then, refine, refine, refine.
Quality cannot be rushed. A masterpiece never comes at the flick of the wrist.
Which is great advice, unless you’re giving it to a retentive perfectionist! 😉
I suppose that might be true. But would they ever get anything on the page to begin with? Creativity requires first some imperfection.
James, I appreciate your insights. They’re definitely contributing to my understanding and the development of my “writer self”.
I am attempting a Haiku poem for its brevity and succinct-ness. Help!
Pale orb of full moon
Floating in black satin sky
Laughing with the stars
I think it’s beautiful as-is. Am not certain myself of the correct syllable count for Haiku… Anyone?
Syllable count is not as important in Haiku as we were taught: that’s just one small version of what Haiku is. In fact, many exquisite Haiku artists don’t count the syllables. It is the succinct-nicity and the turn of idea that makes it haiku. Don’t worry about syllable count.
This is setup right with formatting. 5, 7, 5.
The piece juxtaposes a pale and seemingly sad, with a dark sky, and laughing. Makes a happy night. But I wonder why it is so happy. It likes that wholesome piece, but otherwise it is very elegant. I’ll sing counterpoint again.
O full moon up high
Can you hear my hateful cry
Tonight she is dead!
Thanks, James. I’ll save your version for Halloween night!
I recently discovered another great way to write succinctly….giving yourself a word limit. My limit was 4000 words for a short story contest I entered. Not only did it make me think twice while I was writing, but it forced me to cut out a bunch of unnecessary words while I was editing.
I totally agree Sarah!
The process of expansion and contraction makes a piece better almost every time. Sometimes it is hard to call on when to stop the cyclic process.
“the process of expansion and contraction” – helpful description.
She climbed into his room. He recognized her. He had seen her before. She slunk over to his bed, her long, black dress dragging across the floor. She laid her head on the soft, blue sheets and her dark hair spread around her like a blanket. He looked into her dark eyes and was only compelled to touch her soft, cold cheek. He looked down at her, not knowing when he’d see her again. He loved her.
She leaned forward and kissed him slowly. She stood up and slipped her dress off. She lay on his bed, naked and inviting. She only had a few hours before the light would force her into hiding. She was a beautiful monster of the night, but he didn’t know how to co-exist with her. If he should let her disappear into the darkness or if he should hold her soft, smooth, bare body against his warm, beautiful body until she had to go. He moved his hand across her body and her passion consumed him. For that moment he wished she could transform him into the creature of the night she was. They could be free. A dark, romantic fairy tale.
He knew if he went he’d die happy that night. He touched her body one last time. He knew she was a lonely misunderstood monster that he could only love for a short time. He was sad as she vanished. He knew she would love him forever.
I found this writing clear and easy to understand! A suggestion would be to mix up your sentences so they begin without He or She. “Only a few hours remained until light would force her into hiding” as an option to “She only had a few hours….” Perhaps look for ways to rewrite a few of these?
Yeah that would help a lot! I felt like something was off and I think you figured it out!
Wow! This is good!
The day was blazing hot. The humidity made it feel like 200 degrees outside and my neatly done hairstyle had become a curly, frizzy mess. I wiped my hand
across my forehead, thankful I had put on deodorant. My body was dripping with sweat.
I felt you missed a few opportunities to condense this short piece even shorter.
Shorter still? A scorching, humid day enveloped me, unleashing my tidy hairdo into a frizzy mess. I felt sweaty, slow and claustrophobic — and thankful for deodorant.
Perfection.
Thank you so much for the feedback!!
Hahaha! That’s a great edit, James!
Fixed version! Hopefully it sounds better!
A Dark and beautiful female figure slithered into his room. He recognized her. Blood red lips, wild and untamed hair he had seen her before. Slinking over to his bed, her long, black dress drug across the floor. She laid her head on the soft, blue sheets, her dark hair spread around her like a blanket. Looking into her dark eyes he was only compelled to touch her soft, cold cheek. He looked down at her, not knowing when he’d see her again. He loved her.
Leaning forward she kissed him slowly. Standing up she slowly slipped off her slinky, long black dress. She lay back down on his bed, naked and inviting. Only a few hours remained before the light would force her into hiding. A beautiful monster of the night he didn’t know how to co-exist with her. If he should let her
disappear into the darkness or if he should hold her soft, smooth, bare body
against his warm, beautiful body until she had to go. Moving her hand across
his body her passion consumed him. For that moment he wished she could transform him into the creature of the night that she was. They could be free. A dark, romantic fairy tale.
He knew if he went he’d die happy that night. He touched her body one last time. He knew she was a lonely misunderstood monster that he could only love for a short time. A blank, empty expression spread across his face as she vanished. He knew she would love him forever.
This has some really good stuff in it. This is a major improvement over the previous version, though it too was still good. Lots of flopping back between one POV to another, without a paragraph break is poor practice I think and a little confusing. Usually a paragraph is a set of ideas or actions attributed to either one person, or with the same topic in mind. I’m not completely up-to-date on that, but I might check later.
I think the sentence needs a comma, but I think you can cut the last pronoun and insert the reference.
Excellent, dark, mysterious, and pretty romantic. You can tell I liked it, because I spent more time critiquing it. 🙂
Thank you for the feedback!
No way, it happened. I dove into the water. It is night time. Say what? It is really pitch black. Good thing I brought a flashlight. Time to Shine the light elsewhere. Yes, I can see. No, it is still too dark. I’m underwater. I don’t have my equipment readied. Being in complete darkness is pretty scary. On top of that, you know that you are not alone. Fishes are swimming, Maybe sharks too. I am flustered. I am scared. I am petrified. I can feel something brushing against me. I see something brushing against my thighs. I am in complete loss. something is crawling on me. Snake underwater? Where is my light? where is my sense of security? No where in sight. Oh my god! I shut my eyes. Breathing heavily and steadily. Yes, I feel like I am going to die. No! I opened my eyes. I saw a curly looking fishy object starting through my goggles. It is twirling all over me. Watching me. Looking at me. Messing with me. What is he doing to me? Am I his meal? Wait, the face. It looks like a fish. But it is long. And twirly. Shoot. I am saved. It is not a snake. I brush against the water again. I feel a strong magnetic force coming behind me. What is it this time. This is big. This is huge. Is it a shark? I look back. I see something with his mouth open. Literally, he can swallow me whole based on how big the mouth is. I froze in fear. Waiting. More Waiting. Seeing that I could be dead within a few seconds. I look again. He has a big mouth, but he is flat. Does that mean he will crush me inside? I look closer. Wait. I can see his cartilage and bones in his mouth. Wow. It might be pretty weak. Maybe? It’s now swimming closer. My heart will not stop beating. What is going on? He is getting bigger and bigger. Look at its colossal size. Why is he doing this to me? Will I die from this alone? No way. He can’t be coming for me. He gets closer and closer. Wait! Is he aiming for my head? I continue stare like a retard. the misses my head by a few millimeter. What the? I shine my light at it. Oh. it is a vegetarian fish. Why am I so scared? It seems the manta ray is feeding off algae in the dark. I must be stupid. Yes I am. After all, I am someone who stare retardedly when I think I am about to be eaten.
Hmm…I guess too many short sentences make the story seem broken. Maybe because there’s lots of detail in it. I think you should try cutting a few sentences. Plus, there are a few grammatical mistakes, give it a re-edit. Sentences like “What the?” can be omitted. I mostly skipped over them (without wanting to). But yes, I could feel the fear and the horror you felt.
Nice work! 🙂
Saunved hit on most of what I would say of this piece. I disagree, though, that many short sentences make the story seem broken. Many broken up ideas that don’t flow naturally together being shoved together makes a story seem broken.
I jumped. Icy touch of water. Blackness. Diving at night, not such a great idea. I let out a watery scream. Something touched my leg. Felt like a saw blade. Oh God save me! Wait, my flashlight! I saw empty waters. Too late, it’s gone now. Whatever it was. A piranha? A shark? I shivered. Maybe I don’t want to know…
Thanks Marianne for this timely reminder – “on and on” is my weakness. I have revised a piece from my WIP and hope it’s tighter…
I found Matthew sitting in the unheated garage hunched over a small glass pipe. When he saw me standing in front of him, he looked at me with eyes
so full of pain I couldn’t see any Matthew left in them. He didn’t say a
word as he handed over the lighter, the glass pipe and the tiny square of
aluminum foil that held the powder he was preparing to light. His hands shook and I gasped at his torn fingernails and bloodied cuticles wondering if I had noticed him gnawing on them before that moment, wondering how much I hadn’t seen because of my fear of the truth. Everything about the past year felt like trying to see underwater without a mask. The discovery of the teeny baggies of marijuana in his pocket, playing detective in his bedroom and finding pills and more marijuana and a cash box filled with money. But now, neither of us could hide from the truth. Matthew looked down at his feet and exhaled a frosty stream that trailed down his chest. “Sorry, mom.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled past me. No argument, no empty promises or pleas for another chance. It terrified me more than seeing him with that glass pipe in his hand.
”wondering how much I hadn’t seen because of my fear of the
truth.” is the part that talked me the most. I wondered if it used to be longer, because now it feels concrete and powerful.
thanks, Jackie and yes it used to go ‘on and on’…
Powerful and intimidating piece. I especially liked this part, “…I gasped at his torn fingernails and bloodied cuticles wondering if I
had noticed him gnawing on them before that moment, wondering how much I
hadn’t seen because of my fear of the truth.”
It’s just RAW and effective!
Something I noticed though – The sentences could be shorter. So, instead of : “I gasped at his torn fingernails and bloodied cuticles wondering if I
had noticed him gnawing on them before that moment, wondering how much I
hadn’t seen because of my fear of the truth.”
You can say:
” I saw his trembling hand, torn fingernails and bloodied cuticles, wondering how much I hadn’t seen because of my fear of the truth.”
AND
Instead of: :”When he saw me standing in front of him, he looked at me with eyes so full of pain I couldn’t see any Matthew left in them.”
You may say: “He looked up, his eyes so full of pain that I knew it at once – this wasn’t my Matthew. ”
Just a suggestion, though. I’m still learning and I guess critiquing others works helps us a lot. Thanks 🙂
thanks so much for the suggestions, Saunved – very much appreciated!
I disagree with the first suggestion. The gasp signals the emotion of surprise and fear.
As for the second one, I’m more of a mixed opinion.
I agree that it is both raw and effective. I can see the advantages in certain cases of short, choppy sentences, but in a scene like this where difficult emotions can seem like a flood, IMO longer sentences better capture the sense of what (in this case) the mother is feeling. Good work, Margaret!
thanks, John. I agree that it’s difficult to shorten raw emotions that roll over us, but on a re read, I see where I could have shortened a few things. Maybe a lot of this exercise has to do with punctuation. Here is what I changed that was more action, less of the pained heart: “The discovery of the teeny baggies of marijuana in his pocket. Playing
detective in is room. Finding pills and a cash
box filled with money.”
I especially love the tension. I feel like breaking this piece into paragraphs would also help it flow better. I know that seems trivial, but it is not for the reader.
I love the tension and dialog. Sharp witty. Lots of subtext and emotion in this piece. It characterized both characters well. The busy but caring mom, and a son that takes advantage of that fact.
Last two lines are heart-breaking. He just walks off.
Pardon me, but I’m not familiar with glass pipe drugs. Is that like making meth or something.
thanks, James – I agree with the paragraph break – good call – it should happen at the end of “because of my fear of the truth”. Re: the glass pipe – it was crack. Although I changed the name, the story is about my son who has been drug free for seven years now, thank God. Probably the most terrifying time of my life. This bit is from a short story about letting go…
That must have been very scary. I’m glad things have worked out.
The paragraph breaks also occur to separate dialog. One at and after “Sorry, mom.”
Not only does this make it more readable, but, kind of like poetry, it emphasizes the dialog. In between the details and introspection, it will sound like a gun going off in this case. That is exactly what you want. You’re being shot through the heart.
I still really think you would like my Broken short story, if you haven’t checked it out. It is really short, 700 words.
Broken
Can’t wait to see more passages from you. I love your writing.
Thanks for our encouragement, James. Means a lot. Just finished Broken. Powerful and so very sad. You must have dug deep to create that scene. So much of it personifies the parental bond and our unconditional love – this line was great: “You don’t go crazy from the asking. You go crazy when they stop asking”
Thank you for reading!
The rough draft I fleshed out was a bit sad, but it lacked those details. When I added more to it, my mind did begin to dig deep, put my children in those roles, and honestly brought tears to my eyes as I thought over the horror of losing one of them.
I have an experience with this also because my wife and I lost a son four months shy of birth. But it teaches you to never take them for granted. It is an easy thing to do. You try your damnedest.
Welcome Marianne!
Like Mark Twain said, “I’ve never let my schooling interfere with my education.” The incomplete sentence would’ve never been allowed in the schoolhouse. Fragments were taboo.
Good post.
Please tell me if I’m doing this right!
The bee hums loudly near my ears. Irritating insect. I wave my hands around. I shout. I clap. And then I stand up. The pencil falls on the ground with a gentle tap. I open the window and coax the bee out. After five minutes of droning, the bee settles on my notebook. My hand moves towards the newspaper. Eyes on the bee. Hand raised. BAM!
But it takes flight. There! Right out the window! Good-bye bee, I say and I realize my hiccups are gone.
Hello Saunved! Thanks for sharing! I think you did a great job of writing a paragraph that moves at a good pace! Love your unexpected ending!
Thank you Marianne! 🙂
It was an excellent prompt!
Good practice of an economy of words, and there’s a good-natured humor in this that I really like!
Thank you John! 🙂
Glad you liked it!
Great story. Short, sweet, complete, captured my imagination, with a smile. Could definitely picture the scene.
Thank you Susan! Means a lot!
🙂
You’re welcome.
Just noticed something. Maybe change “and coax” to “to coax” because the bee doesn’t actually leave at that point.
Sorry for being so late! I made the change 🙂
These few short sentences are something all of us can identify with, whether a bee, mosquito or a fly – “My hand moves towards the newspaper. Eyes on the bee. Hand raised. BAM” I could hear the BAM – nicely done!
Thank you 🙂
I think this was wonderful and a superb example of how short writing can be used.
I would change “The pencil falls” to “My pencil falls.” For some reason, the “the pencil” makes it sound as if you had already introduced it into the scene.
Sorry for being so late James! I made the change 🙂
Joy speaks wistfully of her beloved Crown Vic, her valid driver’s licence, and “their” proscription against using either. Does she mean family, perhaps a doctor? Wistfulness at loss of control. Longing for former power. The challenge of the navigating of aging.
Acute intelligence in her eyes. She is, and is not, the same person as before. What does coping with today mean? Coming here on the van to be with her friends. Declining the stay-at-home pout.
I liked the first paragraph. Especially the first sentence. Contrasting ideas, some sarcasm and a pinch of truth. 🙂
Thank yo Saunved! I hadn’t been aware of the sarcasm when I wrote it, but you’re right, the sarcasm is certainly present!
🙂
loved the last line in this, John. Made me smile. The whole piece, something I can relate to. “She is, and is not, the same person as before” Great line. One suggestion: if you shorten the sentence with “navigating” and try to lose the two prepositions I think the sentence will have more punch.
I agree on the aging. I think “Challenges of aging.” may say all the same things.
Ahh, “The navigation of aging.”, You are so right. Thanks for reading, Margaret!
An interesting introspection of the character. I love the unique thoughts you pour onto paper.
Thank you so much, James, that does me heart good!
You got me with Hemingway, Marianne. He’s one of my all-time favorite writers. I’m taking a stab at writing succinctly, so here’s my post:
Just like Madonna, last night I dreamt of San Pedro—San Pedro de Macorís, that is. Small coastal town in the Dominican Republic. Approximately 40 miles east of the island’s capital, Santo Domingo.
I was recounting to a friend about some of the memories I recalled while sitting in the porch last night. The night symphony of the crickets and cicadas in full force. Much like the same night music of the island.
I remember the smell of burnt sugar in the air at night. Delectable. Unmistakable. Sugar fields set on fire after harvesting the sugarcane. Soil being prepared for next year’s crop.
I remember bright, sunny days. Noisy days. Cool, breezy nights. Quiet nights. Roosters singing at different times. Past midnight, in the dead of night, and very early in the morning. Life was simpler then, or so I thought …
I like your one-word statements — “Delectable. Unmistakable.” — about the scent of burnt sugar. Would perhaps one more word indicate whether the smell was sharp? sweet? evocative of something that’s in some way comparable? That’s part of the fun with word-pictures — the right word can say so much!
I like the Madonna reference. Very descriptive of a place that must be quite beautiful!
Thanks for your comment, John. Aaaaah, the smell of burnt sugar in the night air… I can definitely describe it as sweet and intoxicating, redolent to the aroma of baked apples and cinnamon.
I agree with you regarding the ability of words. They certainly can paint a thousand pictures for a reader. Thanks again.
I was really drawn in by this line “I remember the smell of burnt sugar in the air at night” It’s so poetic – provocative and wistful at the same time. In fact I’d love to see you use it to begin this piece about your dream…also loved the rooster reference and how erratic their singing. A fun thought and something I’ve never experienced. Nice work!
Thanks for your comment, Margaret. I’m glad you enjoyed it and when you mentioned the rooster reference, I went back and re-read the vignette I wrote catching my own mistake. The correct thing to have written was “the roosters crowing” instead of “singing.” Thanks for your encouraging words.
Second paragraph: First Movement – The Night Symphony
Reet, reet, reet.
buzz, buzz-a-buzz.
SILENCE…
Reet, reet, reet.
buzz, buzz-a-buzz.
SILENCE…
Loved the smells, the sounds, and the calming scenery you have displayed Claire. This is an amazing passage that draws the reader in.
Thanks for sharing!
Thanks, James. Glad that the smells and feeling I tried to convey in my snippet was captured by you as a reader. Liked your sounds of the night symphony, They certainly convey the ambience of the night music.
Hello Claire! So much lovely detail in here! The night symphony for one. And burnt sugar? So distinct. Couple of suggestions. Your third paragraph, first sentence. Sitting in the porch last night, i recounted memories to a friend. (Recounting and recalled redundant). The smell of burnt sugar lingered in the air. Roosters singing in turn.
Thanks so much for your comment, Marianne. I appreciate you pointing out the redundancy in the two words I used in the third paragraph. I will go back and correct it in case I want to expand this story. This was a very opportune post. Thanks again.
Red eyes glow in the shadows. It is a sign of anger and impending death. Death for those who dared injure the ghost.
The angels are somewhere in the distance, but the demon knows better to trust them. He knows better to think even for a second that even though they should be bringing killers to justice, that they would ever aid him. He is a demon, not to be trifled with. He will get revenge on his own. For himself.
For Annie.
There’s a moment when his initial panic swells, his fear of being left alone and of the ghost never coming back. Why, of all of them, had it been her?
Why couldn’t it have been him instead? Zack would gladly give himself up to get Annie back.
……..
But he couldn’t.
All he could do was destroy the ones that had taken her from him.
“Cliches grew in the corner of the room. ” (this is meant to be humorous, not sarcastic)
I would recommend against starting with red eyes glowing in the dark. Starting with a cliche idea is usually bad practice. Starting with a cliche sentence screams, “Amateur.”
I’m not one to run around calling people amateurs, but I feel that would be one of the initial judgments passed on this passage. Everyone starts there and everyone has a right to their own style preferences.
Quite literally, the next sentence is almost void of purpose because those are nearly implied by the red eyes in the dark. Red eyes are synonymous with anger and the shadows hint at the unknown or death.
Missing two “than”‘s in the next paragraph. Really besides the entrance, there isn’t too much that can’t be cleaned up with details, clarity, reading aloud for flow, and a good edit.
Revise for clarity and details.
Keep practicing! Thanks for sharing! If you need help, an opinion, or advice, let me know! I still remember your last post on this story line, it’s a good story line!
I don’t know if I did this right– please tell me! Here it is:
He stands still. The only movement is the cigarette, moving from his hip to his lips every two breaths. He’s an evil sort of ugly. Crooked nose. Clean shaven goatee. Eyes like red torches from lack of sleep. A thin finger of smoke twists around him.
A group of boys pass.
“What, you eat a kid for breakfast?” scoffs one. The man looks down. His clothes are entirely black leather. The name “Jack Daniels” is written up the side of the jacket in sprawling letters. There’s a silver chain dangling from his pocket. It gleams. Smiling, he tips the black cowboy hat at the kids.
“Close guess,” he growls. “Too close.” He hold’s the boy’s gaze, chuckling when the jesting in his eyes turns to fear. Utter fear. They hurry away.
A little girl and her mother come next. Chattering incessantly– they stop. The mother glances warily at his tattoos. Recognition spreads across her face in horror.
“Justin,” she gasps. She pulls the little girl tight to her side.
“OW, mommy, you’re hurting me!” The woman’s fingers form white knuckles as the clutch her daughter’s arm.
“Quiet baby. This is a bad, bad man…” Justin steps forward. A menacing grin curls on his face. Revenge is mine, he thinks. She’ll pay.
“Hello Annie,” he says. His voice lowers. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Bored again. Staring at the screen. Searching the emptiness behind the brows for the words. Any words. Nothing.
Writer’s block? Maybe. But that would imply he’s a writer. He isn’t. At least not in his own mind. Afterall, a writer writes something other people read. Nothing published. No blog. No grade from a writing class. No margins with editorial notes. Is that even what it’s called when someone marks up a page with corrections or suggestions? A writer would know. Writer’s block? No.
All he has are words. Some scribbled in tattered spiral notebooks gathering dust in the attic. Many others strewn about countless files with obscure names. File names intended to not draw the attention of perusing eyes. Funny though, isn’t it? He wants to write but is afraid to be read.
So what’s left?
Just an idea with but a tinge of hope. That someday, just maybe, he might pen some words that others might find worthy to read. Hmmm, maybe he should stop securing all those files with a password …
Intriguing! I’m wanting a reference to “he” in the first paragraph. He’s bored. Again. Staring at a blank screen, he searches the emptiness behind his brows for inspiration. Nothing.
Thanks for the input. I’m fairly new to this open forum stuff. I’ve only commented here a few times so constructive feedback is appreciated.
Accident. Sorry.
I love to write Twitter-length (140 characters) poems. It definitely helps me write succinctly. Why don’t you give it a try?
I’m angry with Helen. She’s controlling. Manipulates everyone. Even her own. Now she’s getting married. Jim hasn’t been dead a year. It breaks my husband’s heart to see his brother tossed aside. So I’m angry. If Bob hurts, I hurt. But I’m told she’s always been this way. Why waste my time on anger? I’ve better things to do!
well done
They were the reason. They’ve always been the reason as far as I’m concerned. That broadcast of crumpled train cars. Ariel footage. Little burning toys. That was the day daddy left for mom and returned without himself. Without laughter. He never blamed them; carried on as normal, but I did. Demons.
Enjoyed your article I did. Admired clear instruction of yours as well! Appreciative of the time you took to express it. Impressed with your wisdom. Trimmed down by half. Proud of this I am, even if I do sound like Yoda!
There wasn’t much to say about him. Wretched, reviling, evil.
To call him ‘human’ was stupid of her. So much for her Ph.D.
As if the orange arms of fire reaching towards the stars and the screams petrified by the fumes weren’t evidence enough. Or the fact that he let her witness it, let her witness the murder of her family. By his orders.
“Pray tell, what kind of human am I?” He whispered in her ear.
“The kind that frees girls from their chains.”
I’m dating a Nigerian man with a phd . I am a simple woman , a bit on the hickish side but I do really like him . Today he comment in an e mail that he loved my succinct narratives . By that I think he meant a simple way of saying things . What do you think ?