The Extraordinary Art of Writing Short Stories

Tips to help you write extraordinary short stories.

I love dipping into an eclectic mix of short tales. Picking up an anthology or collection of shorts whilst waiting in the car for my kids, or reading while working out on the elliptical with my Kindle app on my phone, delights me and utilises what could be wasted time!

Books containing great short stories…

There’s an art to a short story, and it takes a well-practised writer to get it right. There’s nothing worse than dipping into a tale, finishing it in a few pages and having no reaction. That meh feeling just doesn’t cut it.

You need to be short, sharp, and succinct, and have enough story to make the tale worth telling.

A short story needs to tell a tale in very few words, it needs to grab you and not let you go, it needs to pull you in, swirl you about and throw you back out again! It needs to elicit a reaction. Very often that reaction will either be a smile, a laugh, or a shock, but it has to be a reaction nonetheless. It’s dreadful to read a short and feel you’re just dipping into someone’s high school level homework. Don’t make short stories ordinary, make them extraordinary!

If you’re writing romance, boy-down-the-road meets girl-up-the-road… Shake it up. Don’t give me four or five pages of boy thinking about girl, meeting unexpectedly, and falling in love right away. Shake it up, turn it around…maybe the boy is blind, maybe she walks by every day, she might like him, but not be confident enough to speak – then one day she trips and knocks into him, he recalls her scent and catches her hand… Make me breathe their attraction; make me feel their confusion and their nerves…let the story catch fire!

If the story’s been done before – and let’s face it, most have – what can you do to change it up, twist it, make it different, make it new and inspiring, turn the cliché upside-down? What’s your USP (Unique Selling Point) or as I like UTP – Unique Telling Point! What’s your style?

I honed my writing skills writing Flash Fiction and I hugely recommend it. You learn a vast amount by reading flash fiction, and then by writing it. Most Flash Fiction prompts are words, photos or music. You’re given a set of rules to follow and you create a piece within a particular number of words. It teaches brevity and that every word counts, editing skills, the importance of content, beginnings and endings, grammar, and basic story-telling to name but a few.

I’ve taken part in a variety of flash fiction, and still do. I delight in both writing to a set prompt, expanding my voices and genres, and sharing my work with those around me. My short flash fiction, shared on my blog, serves as an advert for my novels. If you like my flash, read my books!

Take a look at these short tales on some of my favourite blogs, see how the stories work, how they elicit a reaction, and you’ll see why you need to read more from these writers! Tinker My Heart – A Jar of Fireflies, Dancing at Whitsun – Cubic Scats, Duty – One More Leaf, The Apothecary’s Art – The Last Krystallos, Uninterrupted – Jo Cannon, and At the Museum – Searching for Ingleside. (Several of these pieces are Flash Fiction contest winners)

A short story collection or being included in a compendium or anthology can be great for an author especially an indie author. It’s a way for readers to get to know your writing, your style, without needing to buy your full length novels. This is also a major reason why getting the short story right is so important. If you write shorts badly, they may never move on to your other writing. Share whatever you want on your blog for free, let readers taste your writing, but only put your best work into a collection. If you’re publishing make it worth the money your reader is spending!

Don’t write ordinary tales, make them extraordinary!

When you’re choosing a collection of tales, don’t just read the reviews, make the most of the preview of the book that Amazon allows you to see…take a look at the writing, see if it’s for you..

Cutthroats and Curses

If you want to read some amazing collections – try these, tried and tested and brilliant works, and something for everyone. And I’ll stick my neck out and say of you want to read a fantastic short pick up ‘Cutthroats and Curses’ and read Beth Avery’s ‘ Roaring Dan Seavey…’, that’s how short stories should be written!

Once Upon a Time: A Collection of Unexpected Fairytales – SJI Holliday and Anna Meade

Finding a Voice – Jeffrey Hollar

And the Angels Cried and Other Short Stories – Annette S. Thomson

Once Upon a Time, Finding a Voice, And the Angels Cried, Through the Portal

Cutthroats and Curses: An Anthology of Pirates – Michael Wombat and The Anthology Club

Through the Portal – LaDonna Cole and Read Write Muse

Tales by the Tree, In Creeps the Night, Here be Dragons, Moonbeams and Fairies

Tales by the Tree: A Christmas Collection – J. A. Mes Press

In Creeps the Night: 50 Flash Fiction Horror Tales – J. A. Mes Press

Here Be Dragons – Hannah Steenbock

Of Moonbeams and Fairies – Rebecka Vigus (Childrens Tales)

Darrion, Burn, Moth Girl Versus the Bats

Darrion – Marissa Ames

Burn – Daniel Swensen

Moth Girl Versus The Bats – Michael Wombat

And if you want to try, and read, some Flash Fiction…click on the sites below or my side bar, check out my Blues Buster stories which you can find a quick link to in my Categories.

Five Sentence Fiction, Blues Buster, Visual Dare, Three Line Thursday, Flash! Friday, Horror Bites

So, do you love short stories? What are your favourites and what makes them special?

Are you a Flash Fictioneer? If you want to know more of my Flash Fiction beginnings read: Being a Flash Fictioneer (like a writing Musketeer…or something similar…). What’s your favourite site for Flash?

Five Sentence Fiction: Abandon

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dragon tail, abandon, five sentence fiction, last krystallos

Sabrina clasped Adam’s hand as they dashed into the split of rock at the foot of the towering cliff, and they tumbled to the floor in a giggling tangle of limbs and sodden clothes. Their hearts pounded and adrenalin surged, and the thin cotton t-shirts plastered to their skin held no further secrets.

Sabrina stared up into Adam’s dark eyes and let her fingers drag across his thigh, across his drenched jeans, her breath rasping with both exhaustion and desire. She forgot their picnic down in the meadow, now drowned beneath heaven’s cascade, and decided not to forsake her hunger…

The storm growled through the cave, like a rumbling belly, and behind the amorous couple a silent tail whipped patiently back and forth as the amused dragon’s main course and dessert quickly removed their packaging…

This prompt spoke to me in many ways…abandon…and this story idea made me smile, so I hope it tickled you too!

Fly over to Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction to see more!

Blues Buster: Gun

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The barrel sat still warm in his hand, still soothing and fluid within his grip. He clenched his knees together and pressed his toes firmly against the soles of his shoes. The blazing fire in the hearth disguised the stench of sweat and the acrid smell that rose about him. He lifted the gun to his face gently brushing the metal across his stubbled cheek, like a lover would her lips. Blood pulsed through his body, muscles tensed, and his ears rang. He sat on the edge of the bed, sheets crumpled and dirty, and he inhaled as if a cigarette hung from his mouth.

For a moment he basked, letting the excited tension that consumed him relax and allowing heady delight room in his mind. The gun settled on his thigh, resting with ease and the sense of a job well done.

He closed his eyes and exhaled, enjoying the moment as you would a long-awaited gulp of whisky. The fire crackled and spat and the bed beneath him shook.

His eyes sprang open and his head whirled, as if he’d forgotten his deed, as if he’d neglected the woman sitting wide-eyed and terrified at the top of the bed.

She sat upon the pillow, curled up tight beneath a cherry-stained, yellow-streaked sheet. Tears ran muddy rivers down her cheeks and pale, rigid fingers clutched the bed sheet up to her neck.

He gazed at her and her eyes stared like a rabbit’s right back. She shook like a leaf in a gale, uncontrollably and violently. The yellow puddle beneath her seeped through the sheets and he failed to supress his curled lip of disgust.

She refused to look away and his finger, resting on the gun, trembled. He looked to her side and his heart thumped, his excitement growing ever richer. Beside her, the black-haired body, the mound in the bed, blossomed red, wine red…blood red. He chuckled and his eye twitched.

She shrank against the wall, her skin stuck to it with the sweat of fear.

He lifted the gun again, stroking the barrel with quivering and calloused fingers, and watched her shaking body writhe. He shuddered in anticipation. She spoke, or at least words tried to leave her mouth.

“Didn’t get that, sweetheart?” he drawled.

“No one will love you, not ever, no one…” The words escaped with a vitriol he hadn’t expected from one so afraid for her life.

The gun brushed his arm, and he licked his lips, twitching again involuntarily.

“No one,” she repeated, suddenly forgetting her fear and leaning forward. “When they see what you did…you’ll have no one,” she hissed.

He lifted the weapon to his lips, but it was cold, the metal unforgiving, and his arousal vanished. The hate glistened in her eyes, black as night, and flashing crimson as demon against the red firelight roaring in the fireplace. Spittle frothed on her pale lips and revulsion spat. “They’ll hate you!”

Her intonation took only a split second to invade his fragile mind, to infect the deepest parts of him, to turn his rage inside out.

The gun gleamed in his hand, and the shivers that twisted down his spine grabbed at his heart. He shook the gun at his wife then turned the muzzle toward his face, caressing the beloved metal that threatened to curse him. It sang in his hand, whispered in his fevered mind and the kiss it offered burst like summer rain as his mind splattered across the bed and his unfaithful mate.

(587 Words)

An explosive tale for this week’s Blues Buster over at The Tsuruoka Files prompted by the song ‘Gun’ by Emiliana Torrini.

Amaranth Alchemy: The Gift of Words

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Amaranth Alchemy Winter/Spring Collection

In a few weeks Amaranth Alchemy will have been trading for five months, we’ve had fun and unexpected success and we offer much gratitude to everyone who has supported us! It’s been a delight to share wordy and bookish crafts and rescue books at the same time.

Old, worn and torn books, destined for the county tip, have come into our lives and we’ve been able to use them to enrich and create. Another offer of thanks go to all those who own a piece of our work, especially over Christmas, we hope you love it!

Pooh_Alice_and_Adventure_Amaranth_Alchemy_valentine_2015

Winnie the Pooh, Alice and Adventure – Amaranth Alchemy

Right now, we’re preparing for Valentine’s and Mother’s Day and Easter won’t be too far behind. February sees lovers sharing hearts and flowers, and if I have anything to do with it, chocolate too, then 15^th March celebrates Mothering Sunday in the UK…in the US I am reliably informed by my ‘the bright side’ diary that May 10^th is ‘Mother’s Day (not the UK)’.

We have gifts for both him and her and would love you to take a peek…

Gifts for Him and Her – Amaranth Alchemy

Aragorn_loved_arwen_LOTR_B&W_scrabble_pendant_necklace_amaranth_alchemy_2015

Aragorn Loved Arwen – Amaranth Alchemy

We cater for fans of all variety…so if The Lord of the Rings is your beloved’s passion, then fall in love with Arwen and Aragorn…

Winnie the Pooh delights all ages, especially mothers on Mother’s Day…

Winnie the Pooh – Amaranth Alchemy

Sun and Moon Dictionary Necklaces – Amaranth Alchemy

You can even find something for the Game of Thrones couple – My sun and stars… and, The moon of my life…

Poetry in motion with Dictionary Scrabble tile style necklaces…choose one of our premade pendants, or contact us and see if we have your special word and tile letter. We have some very happy commission customers!

Love, Star, Elvish Runes and Raven - Amaranth Alchemy

Love, Star, Elvish Runes and Raven Dictionary Necklaces – Amaranth Alchemy

It’s also highly likely that when we reach our six month mark, we may celebrate with a giveaway…don’t miss out, like our Facebook page and you’ll be ready!

Love Dictionary Necklace – Amaranth Alchemy

Valentine’s Day is on its way! But don’t forget Mother’s Day too!

Little Women Bookmarks and Quote Plaques – Amaranth Alchemy

*All the photographs on this post belong to Amaranth Alchemy, but feel free to share them, especially on Pinterest, Facebook and Twitter etc!

Fandom Character List Prints – Amaranth Alchemy

Five Sentence Fiction: Offering

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Thanis sighed as the punishing wind swept billowing clouds of dust through the bare limbs of the grey elm forest. The vast apocalyptic landscape spread beyond her cracked windows and she hugged her child close as she glanced at the limp crop of leaves in her dusty yard.

A prayer slipped from her lips, a yearning petition to the gods, amid quiet words of desperation…

She turned from the grimy window and a gust howled across the basin, echoing her lamentation, and as she turned back a smile spread across her weary face. High above the valley, above the regimented elms on the mountainside, the wind blew the clouds aside and a shaft of light lit a glittering spray of rain – a true gift.

Dipping back into Five Sentence Fiction over at Lillie McFerrin…take a look at the other stories for the prompt word: Offering.

Blues Buster: Dark Road

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Dark Road

Cold fingers clutch at my heart, squeezing and making me breathless. My legs tremble and I struggle to remain motionless. My breath pools in my throat, as I clench my jaw scarcely letting a stray whisper escape. I daren’t even let the leaves surrounding me quiver as the moon shimmers them with silver dust. I drop to the frigid ground as softly as I can and ignore the brambles biting my belly.

The moon disappears, shrouded behind indigo and I twitch, listening, feeling…

His feet crunch, on crispy frosted leaves, and twigs break beneath his step, and I hold my breath. Accustomed to the dark, I stare through the undergrowth. He stands, alert and brazen, and I stifle myself as a flood of moonlight touches him from behind the parting clouds.

“You’re not welcome!” he calls, his voice strained and tight, and his stance shifts as he lifts his gun.

Blood pounds and I can barely contain myself. My head swims, and the metaphorical knife he thrust through my soul years ago pierces deep.

I want to leap from the undergrowth, rush from the hedge, but instead I shiver from the passion that rises, from the hot blood that pumps through my veins. I fight the desperation that mounts.

“GO! Go now!” His voice breaks, and my heart splinters. “Please go…” he whispers, and my nerve begins to fail.

I sit back, hidden beneath the dense fretwork of branches and foliage. Then the screech of an opening window shatters the night’s silence and a voice demolishes my resolve.

“Dad, Dad, come back inside.”

He crumbles, and I watch as his defences drop. Fire ignites in my belly and I crouch, leaning forward. A snarl builds from the cauldron of coals within. He glances up at the window and the shaft of light cast down from his daughter’s bedroom behind her gaze. “Dad, it’s not safe out there, come back inside!”

Her voice ruins me.

I stare up at the girl, and douse the fire. Her raven black hair twists in the breeze and vapour, like dragon’s smoke, clouds her breath. I lower my ebony hackles. Her father is lost amid the desire to protect and the urge to listen to his child. I stare intently at the girl, and my eyes are wet. Her hair is caught by the wind as she leans out of the window. White stripes, old scars glow iridescent in the silvered rays against her neck and I bite back the ugly emotion that surges through me.

I got what I came for and withdraw, recoil, and let the frosty fingers of winter grab my heart again. The scars adorning her neck, though old and pale, serve well as a reminder. Sometimes a glimpse is all you need, sometimes love is more than being there, and sometimes you choose to walk a lonely path.

I shake the chill from my shaggy fur and pad softly away, leaving my two loves behind like my paw print trail.

I howl as the cursed moon climbs high in the open sky, then as it vanishes behind a curtain of gloom the darkness covers me and I melt into the night and the hope of the coming dawn.

(538 Words)

Another tale for Jeff’s Blues Buster. The prompt song is ‘Dark Road’ by Sarah Jarosz…take a listen and read the other tales over at The Tsuruoka Files.

Blues Buster: From Black Gold to White Diamond

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The blood-red Ducati growled between his thighs. It surged forward, the front wheel lifting off the tarmac then the tire bounced back to the ground and Trent’s stomach flipped as the bike roared beneath him. He flew down the road, leaving his rebel yell in a cloud of dust.

With nothing to see but the endless road ahead, he let his mind wander.

She’d giggled as he’d run his dirty fingers up her leg, she’d shaken her head in mock irritation as his rough fingernail snagged her stockings, but she hadn’t stopped him. Instead she’d downed the glass of bourbon and rearranged herself into a more pleasing position. The diamonds about her neck had sparkled amid the shaft of silver moonlight, pooling like provocative stars in the swell of her bosom, but he sought more than a string of gems.

A lone, wild dog loped across the road in front of him and Trent was back in the present, gripping the bike with muscular legs and swerving to avoid disaster. As his pumping heart settled, he cast his mind back again, reliving that night’s delights.

When morning had arrived and white light had flooded the penthouse, Trent nudged Camille and grinned. Her head lolled on the satin pillow, hair mussed-up from the night’s fun and her eyes, smudged like coal, closed. The bottle on the nightstand stood half empty and amber liquid puddled beside the overturned glass. He’d moved quickly to the safe, behind the portrait of her oil baron husband, and input a series of numbers. The door swung open and Trent swiped the small velvet pouch. Yes, he was after way more than a string of diamonds.

Once dressed, he drizzled the white stones between his fingers, then scooped them into his palm and slipped them into his leather jacket’s pocket. He emptied a vase of tiny pebbles and replaced the velvet pouch.

Now on the road, he glanced down at his zipped pocket and grinned. The sun shone down on the road, and in his mirror he could see the black tarmac behind shimmering like a sea of diamonds. His heart flipped just like his stomach had, he was set for life. Her face flickered before him, and for a moment he regretted leaving her behind, but he’d sworn only to take what was rightfully his, and the diamonds would cover that. He knew she’d take punishment for his actions, but he’d been through too much to care. When you’ve done all you can and had everything stripped away, your spirit of vengeance rose faster than your conscience.

The road snaked on, black as far as the eye could see, like a river of shimmering oil. It had been Trent’s intuition, Trent’s knowledge that had discovered the reserve, but he’d been violently elbowed out of any deal. In turn he’d driven into Camille’s lonely heart and taken his revenge, as cold as the white stones lining his pockets.

The bike sped on and the states blurred until the lights of LA twinkled in San Bernadino, and Trent pulled over. The Ducati throbbed as Trent unzipped his jacket and grinned. He cast his gloves aside and dipped his fingers into his pocket. The delight he’d felt, the freedom of the road, and the escape, suddenly chilled. His mind leaped backwards, frantically rewinding, until he saw the river of black tarmac shimmering in the midday sun, like a trail of sparkling diamonds…and the hole in his pocket turned his heart into frozen stone.

(584 Words)

A tale for Jeff’s Blues Buster over at The Tsuruoka Files…it’s sparkly for Christmas, even though the song is not! Prompt song Man on the Run by Cowboy Mouth.

Three Line Thursday: Thor’s Well

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Matt Adamik Photography “Thor’s Well” Cape Perpetua Oregon

Your caress builds in a surge of waves, a groundswell of passion,

and white horses dance amid the surf of your desire,

and I am lost, utterly consumed…

Week Eleven of Three Line Thursday and a great photo prompt from Matt Adamik…take a look at the other interpretations.

Blues Buster: Stars (Waiting on a Dream)

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Girl Watching City at Night Free Download Wallpaper at chaoswallpapers.com

Stars (Waiting on a Dream)

From his perch atop the city, it seemed he could see the entire world.

Below, electricity wreathed the ground in a geometric web of light, winking and flickering in the frigid cold, like a supercharged network created by a techno Jack Frost. Twinkling gold lit up the entire spread of community; interspersed with blinks of red and green ruling the roads, and swathes of neon crawling throughout downtown.

The docks rose in the distance, towering cranes, great shadows on the horizon and the harbour lights danced on black water. The river snaked like a python, like a dark chasm amid the lights and city sprawl, and moved silently through the urban spread until it flicked its tail and faded into the glow on the horizon.

He stared intently at the mathematical placement of roads, intersections and buildings, at the strings of lights that threaded the cityscape, before casting his eyes heavenward and releasing a sigh.

Stars glittered and the moon hung in the indigo sky like a silver marble.

He laughed inwardly, his lip beneath his whiskers curling lightly. He shivered and blew into his cold, weathered hands as the dark sky and dotted galaxies sneaked through his coat. He turned his attention again to the metropolis at his feet.

As he drank in the view, he shifted his weight on the park bench and pulled his camel skin coat close. The city had been his for a while, just a while, just enough to make a name for himself, but there was more to life than fame, and more to this city than cold, twinkling lights. There were better things than your name in lights, better things than hard, gold statuettes, better things than this.

He had no regrets, but she’d been gone for a while, and he missed her.

He liked hearing his name on the lips of others, but no voice beat hers. He adored the cheering of the fans, but her smile was worth more. Oscars shone on his mantelpiece, but no accolade was as soft and satisfying as her sweet kiss.

“I’m coming home, sweetheart…” The words barely left his lips, but they whispered in the raw night air and warmed him.

For a few moments his rheumy eyes wandered the city, remembering, and finally came to rest on the small patch of grass before him. He recalled the young girl kneeling there, staring down across the city in wonder, before leaning over to kiss him. He closed his eyes to capture the moment.

The night wind blew across the city, and up the hillside, chilling his bones and messing his unruly white hair, and he smiled. “I’m coming home…”

Snow began to fall. Soft, thick snowflakes slipped from the sky and grey clouds gently moved across the hillside. The morning would come and the city would slumber beneath a blanket of white, and a lone runner, atop the hill, would alert the authorities to the snow-covered mound on the bench. Blue lights would ride up the hillside, despite the snow, and headlines would be made, but it wouldn’t matter to him, because he’d risen far above the cityscape, far above the snow – and had returned home to the stars and to her soft, sweet kiss.

(541 Words)

My entry into Jeff’s Blues Buster over at The Tsuruoka Files. The prompt song is Lee Ranaldo’s ‘Waiting on a Dream’ and my interpretation took a while coming, but I got there!