A few weeks ago I came across Investing in Futures, “a project which helps you imagine future worlds (wild, impractical, idyllic, and utopian) and what it would be like to live in them.” As a writer, I immediately latched onto the idea and became a backer.
Then they sent out a digital copy for playtesting. And, of course, I eagerly played.
So here’s my thoughts and findings. Will you, too, invest in futures?
I want to write more. Short stories especially. But a long story takes a long time to write–so do short stories, but brevity makes the challenge more approachable–and the alliteration? Why, that’s wonderful.
A couple week’s ago, the Daily Post challenged bloggers to attempt flash fiction, and when I came across it this week, I decided I should get back into it–I’d attempted the art form years ago, but gave it up in favor of verbose, flowery prose.
It’s hard for me to be laconic.
So at least for the summer (until I’ve got my series up-and-running), I’m challenging myself to post a short short story every Friday–just so I can call it Flash Fiction Fridays! Well, that’s not the only reason, of course, but it’s certainly exciting!
It won’t be easy, and I’m looking forward to all the comments and critiques I can get to help refine my skills and improve every week. Luckily for me, I already had a piece on hand that I wrote this semester for my poetry class: the challenge? Write a shocking story in prose.
The day begins and I’m half-asleep and the half that’s awake would really like to roll over again and just go back to sleep. In the afternoon my feet ache and my throat’s sore from saying the same thing over and over again to a hundred different people–I could do this with my eyes closed, I tell them, and it’s true–and my eyes drift toward my closed iPad, longing for its internal delights–or that it might morph into a pillow for a quick nap.
For me it began by accident. I wasn’t ever much of a strong reader in my youth. In fact I had struggled to read for most of my time remembering how to do it. It never came naturally. I supposed books and I would never be such great friends.
What changed was a challenge. My library had a summer reading contest (for although I don’t find myself to be incredibly competitive, when it comes down to it, I find many of my motivations have been incredibly competitive in nature), and if you read a certain number of pages, you received a certain number of points, and if you received a certain number of points, you received a prize.
So I read. Small books, children’s books, ones much less than I could have and should have been reading at the time. But I read them. And then, right before the end, I had a tally of all my pages–and they wanted a book’s title. But I hadn’t written any down.