Now, I know that that doesn’t exactly sound modest and I may be a bit biased, but really, I think I’m quite good at it. I completely recognize that the story was mostly a first draft and definitely requires some polish, but the nuts and bolts are there and, if anything, I think I’m a better writer now than I was 4 years ago. Moreover, reading some stuff I’ve written makes me want to write more.

So, now that I’ve got you all pumped up and interested (neat trick, huh ) here’s the short story I wrote:
Joes’s Short Life

PS – Please ignore the gratuitous panhandling after the story. I can’t find the original document to republish the PDF and I’m a different person today with different goals and aspirations.

PPS – Thanks, Ernie, for re-awakening this.

I’m going to be focusing on coding for the foreseeable future because that’s where I want to allocate my time right now. I’ve got a big unfinished project in that arena and it’s time to make some progress on it, hopefully contributing back to the community as I go.

I hope to return to more consistent writing in the future and I’m sure that I’ll have the occasional line here and there but I don’t think that there will be very many for a few months. I’ve created a Creativity feed and if you’re just visiting for the writing I encourage you to simply track that with your feed aggregator.

His master was a skeletal man named Sharad. He took Jared to a large house in the town of Humil. Jared was assigned to a small, windowless room with four boys and three beds in it. He put his extra shirt down and was taken to get his mark of ownership.

When he came back, there were four beds and no sign of his shirt. No one said anything. Jared looked at the other boys. They all appeared about the same age as him and none of them looked particularly well cared for. All were marked by bruises, old and new, as well as cuts, scratches and scabs. The smallest boy had a bandage over one ear.

Jared moved toward a bed but his way was blocked by one of the boys. He tried again and again he was obstructed. After trying twice more, he picked a spot on the floor and curled up there. He knew that he would appear weak but he didn’t care. As much as he hated himself for it, he missed his parents. He missed his house. He missed his bed. He knew that he would find his place here and he knew that he would rise quickly but tonight he just game himself to his feelings.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t move. He gave no outward signs of how he felt. Jared knew that if he showed that sort of weakness, the others would be that much harder on him. He simply lay there, feeling sad, letting the emotions run their course and drain out of him. Tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow it would begin.

“The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.” [1]

I’m impressed by this line because it’s simple. It doesn’t run on for three lines, stringing thoughts together with punctuation like beads on a thread.

I’m impressed by this line because it’s meaty. You meet two characters right away. One of them is running away. One of them is “bad” and the other is “the law” – though, I’ll admit this could be debatable. You get a sense for the environment.

I’m impressed by this line because the words are simple. All of the words are common. Two-thirds of them have a single syllable, the other third only two syllables.

I’m impressed by this line because it paints a picture. Instantly, you have some sense of what’s happening. The use of “followed” and not “chased” indicates a lack of urgency. The “man in black” isn’t just ahead of “the gunslinger”, he’s hours or days ahead of him. Maybe there’s just a black spec on the horizon, maybe it’s imagined. Whenever I hear “the gunslinger” I picture this grizzled old rawhide Clint Eastwood-type, flinty eyes staring out at the hardpan dryness ahead of him. A gun rests easily on his hip, a hat pulled low across his eyes. He turns his head and sends a small seed of moisture shooting towards the earth.

Ok, I’ll grant that I really know these characters because I’ve read the story more than once. I know what will happen. I know what “the gunslinger” looks like. I know who the “man in black” is. Yet, I still feel that this is a powerful beginning and I’ll continue to measure my work against it.

[1] The Gunslinger, by Stephen King – Book 1 of The Dark Tower

I think that I’m going to revive a feature from a previous incarnation of my blog.

First Lines.

Wherein our hero attempts to drag forth a gripping, captivating, wrap hands around your neck and drag you into the rest of the tale beginning. A single sentence, carefully crafted to pick you up, carry you on and generate the deepest desire to seek out what may exist in the following pages. Not just every-so-often, not just once-in-a-while, but every day – our brave hero will set his will and creativity against the horrors of an empty screen and writer’s block.

I can’t promise that every line will be as captivating as the previous paragraph (work with me…) but I’ll do the best I can. Some days there may be multiple first lines, some days there won’t be any. Some days there may be a paragraph, some days a fragment.

I view it as an exercise in improvement. You never get better at anything unless you try and this will be my writing practice, writ large for the world to ignore.

or is it just me?