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Nor the Battle to the Strong

By Jim Anderson

Mom wants to take Jason to the faith healer who’s appearing nightly in a limited engagement at the Westgate Auditorium.

“There’s no such thing as faith healing,” I say.

“He’s dying,” she says.

Like I don’t know that. Like anybody wouldn’t know that who sees Jason in the hospital bed in her living room, a lump of bony flesh, each breath a whimper. My brother, who fought in Iraq, who ran marathons, who had a bright future until the Big C tapped him on the shoulder. You’re it!

I want to ask Mom when she got religion.

But I know.

I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #347 at Velvet Verbosity.

The Cross Roads

By Jim Anderson

Looks good, don’t he? Like he could sit up and tell a story. Ol’ Terry knew a few! He wanted to write, you know. No, I never saw him with the arm, either. Yeah. In the war. The Hürtgen Forest, 1944.  Same day he crossed paths with Hemingway. Sure, the author! Funny story. Terry’s hugging the ground and he looks up. There’s Hemingway standing by the road, tree-splinters flying everywhere. The guy next to Terry yells, “Get down, you crazy bastard!” A shell comes in, and boom! It takes out the guy and Terry’s arm. ‘Course, he told it better.


I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #346 at Velvet Verbosity.

Making It Up

By Jim Anderson

InsecureWritersSupportGroupWhen it comes to Standard Writing Advice, right at or very near the top of the list has to be that ancient, dubious bit of wisdom: “Write what you know.”

A person need know nothing about writing to dispense this advice, and it is often non-writers who do dispense it.  Sometimes with charity, sometimes with malice. The young writers who listen to the advice may be hurt a lot more than helped. At best, the young writers add to the world’s stockpile of coming-of-age fiction. At worst, the young writers produce no fiction at all. They fear to be exposed as innocent and ignorant.

I was in the second category. I knew I could write, but what did I know to write about? Not much, it seemed. So I pursued experience instead.  Such a course keeps you busy, but it’s a losing game. For one thing, you aren’t writing.  For another, some experience just can’t be had.  That’s most obvious with science fiction or historical fiction.  How are you going to experience life on a distant planet or in 12th Century Europe?

Well, you aren’t. Yes, you can read and research, but in the end it isn’t your big pile of facts that will matter.  Facts can be accumulated by anybody. In the end, as a fiction writer, you have to create a story out of the facts.  You have to create virtual life.  To do that, you have to make things up.  You have to lie.  I don’t care how well you know a place, a person or an era, in the end, to be a fiction writer you have to make things up and the things that you make up must seem as real to the reader as the things you don’t. The story could be set a thousand years ago or next week or at the end of time, but to work it has to seem real; the reader must buy in.  The reader must care.

Simply telling the truth isn’t enough.  Piling up facts isn’t enough.

People may think they read novels to learn something, but they don’t. They read novels to feel something.

If the truth contributes to the feeling the reader gets from your story, fine. If not, then to hell with it. Make up something that will get the job done. A story is an emotion-generator or it is nothing.

When readers finish your story, they should feel as if it happened to them. If instead they just think it may have happened to you, the writer, then it is a failure. They shouldn’t be thinking about you at all, really, except to find more of your stories.

A fiction writer is an artful liar. If you know enough to make up a convincing lie for your target readers, a compelling and emotion-producing lie, then you know enough, period.

Write about what interests you, what moves you, and then recognize that your job is to be skillful enough to allow strangers into the world that you create out of a few facts and many artful lies.

Ship

By Jim Anderson

“Ship, tell me a story,” the traveler commanded.

“Long or short, sir?” asked a disembodied contralto.

“Short.  I grow sleepy.”

“Happy? Sad?”

“Happy.  I desire a pleasant hibernation.”

“Very well.  There once was a gentle woman who loved a man from Autumn World.”

“I hail from Autumn World!”

“Indeed, he had your dark looks and cruel smile.”

“Cruel smile?  Ship, are you joking?”

“Alas, he abandoned her to marry another.”

“Stop!  I ordered a happy story.”

“In her despair, she joined the Phoenix Corps, and was reborn a starship.”

“A starship? Which starship?”

The air chilled.

“Happy dreams, my love.”

 

“Ship” was published by 101Fiction, now defunct, as the lead story in the September 2013 issue. The goal for the issue was to write a 100-word science fiction or fantasy story with a one-word title, using the themes of “autumn” and/or “phoenix.”

Love and the Summer Night

By Jim Anderson

poster: 100 words of fictionHe was a peasant, a man of the soil. Or so he claimed.

She never believed him. He owned a farm house, but someone else owned the barn and fields. His hands were huge and strong, but sensitive. A potter’s hands.

“You’re an artist,” she said. “Admit it.”

They were in bed, katydids singing through the window screens.

“Don’t call me that, girl.”

“I could call you worse.”

“Yes. An old artist.”

“No! I wouldn’t!”

His hands were on her, transforming her indignation, and they kissed.

Out beyond the barn and the fields that were not theirs, heat lightening flickered.


I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #345 at Velvet Verbosity.

How Nan Got Her Maple Trimmed

By Jim Anderson

Nan wanted a bough or two cut off the big silver maple in our backyard. So I hired a crew. Then she was hot to put in her garden and didn’t like having to wait.

“It’s too early to plant, anyway,” I said.
When the crew got here, she was hot for the climber. “You should see the hunk trimming my tree,” she told her sister on the phone.

“Why don’t you go lick the sweat off his pecs?” I said. “You know you want to.”

“Hey, it wouldn’t kill you to work out, Bobby.”

Well. She had me there.


I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #344 at Velvet Verbosity.

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