Improving our 300 Word Stories -- READ FIRST POST!

[therapist]

I'm very curious what people thought about my story, where I went wrong, how you think it could be better etc. All comments welcome.

Pictures of him

I moved to a secluded lakeside cabin to work on my photography and to be alone. I thought I was immune to loneliness. But that notion was as foolish as my career aspirations.

I walk around the lake—same path I take everyday—snapping birds and trees and other mundane sh*t that no-one cares about.
I spot a lone figure standing waist deep in the lake. It’s been years since I’ve seen anyone around here. I spy from the tree-line, zooming in through my camera.
It’s not a person.
Its skin is scaly and grey, its arms too long with one joint too many. I approach for a closer shot but my hands are trembling. The thing begins wading towards me. It stops at the water’s edge and clicks several times.
It seems more curious than hostile, so I wave. It bends an arm over its head and clumsily waves back. I laugh, and it clicks again—now a percussive rhythm.
Eventually it retreats and disappears under the lake’s surface.

Next day I return, and it’s standing there again. I approach and say hello. It clicks in response. Then I just start chatting as if to a friend. This lasts for hours. It feels good to pretend.

A week later, and I’ve visited him (I call it a ‘him’ now) everyday. Each time more exciting than the last. It finally feels like I’m doing something important and meaningful with my life.
I compile my best photos of him. I need to share this with the world. Success, wealth, fame; all a click away…
So why aren’t I clicking?
I sleep instead.
The moment I wake up I rush to the lake. My friend is there, waiting. He does his goofy wave and I return it with an equally goofy smile.

—
Was the ending clear? I worry that my wording might've confused people with "all a click away". Maybe "all an e-mail away" would be better?

 

[Astro Pen]

I'm very curious what people thought about my story, where I went wrong, how you think it could be better etc. All comments welcome.

Pictures of him

I moved to a secluded lakeside cabin to work on my photography and to be alone. I thought I was immune to loneliness. But that notion was as foolish as my career aspirations.

I walk around the lake—same path I take everyday—snapping birds and trees and other mundane sh*t that no-one cares about.
I spot a lone figure standing waist deep in the lake. It’s been years since I’ve seen anyone around here. I spy from the tree-line, zooming in through my camera.
It’s not a person.
Its skin is scaly and grey, its arms too long with one joint too many. I approach for a closer shot but my hands are trembling. The thing begins wading towards me. It stops at the water’s edge and clicks several times.
It seems more curious than hostile, so I wave. It bends an arm over its head and clumsily waves back. I laugh, and it clicks again—now a percussive rhythm.
Eventually it retreats and disappears under the lake’s surface.

Next day I return, and it’s standing there again. I approach and say hello. It clicks in response. Then I just start chatting as if to a friend. This lasts for hours. It feels good to pretend.

A week later, and I’ve visited him (I call it a ‘him’ now) everyday. Each time more exciting than the last. It finally feels like I’m doing something important and meaningful with my life.
I compile my best photos of him. I need to share this with the world. Success, wealth, fame; all a click away…
So why aren’t I clicking?
I sleep instead.
The moment I wake up I rush to the lake. My friend is there, waiting. He does his goofy wave and I return it with an equally goofy smile.

—
Was the ending clear? I worry that my wording might've confused people with "all a click away". Maybe "all an e-mail away" would be better?

It was a very delicate piece. I'd like to see more of that kind of writing here.
It was easy to visualise, both emotionally and cinematically. (In fact I think it would make a gentle 5 minute short)
If I had done a shortlist it would have been there
Yes the 'clicking' is ambiguous x3 because I initially got the impression that the creature was reciprocally clicking his own photos to take back to it's own community. I also liked the moral decision aspect.
ps. I would drop Sh*t and use some other word like 'things' or 'minutia'. Sh*t is coarse and at odds with the texture of the piece.
The click ambiguity is an easy thing to correct with 'tweet' for the disseminating and a slightly different sound for the creature. Do that and put it in your keeper file. Well done

 

[Swank]

Was the ending clear? I worry that my wording might've confused people with "all a click away". Maybe "all an e-mail away" would be better?

The problem is that you have snapping of the camera, clicking of the creature and clicking of the mouse. So when you "click" it could be one of several things or an artful combination of two (like you mean mouse click, but another part of your brain means talk click).

I liked the piece overall.

 

[therapist]

Yea I agree completely. 'Clicking' is an obvious poor word choice (especially when the MC has a camera...)
I must've proof read this a thousand times before submitting and somehow it never clicked until after I clicked submit.

 

[Aknot]

It would be great to hear your thoughts about my last story.

A Daughter Of The Past
She was reborn during a night of snow. An occurrence so rare that the desert tribes gathered to sing praise when the sun rose.
They stood in the frigid flow of the green river while the red stone walls of the canyon carried their voices to the heavens. She listened with rapt attention to the hymns of water and earth, of life and death, and felt their love and joy.

To her that had been moments ago but it was generations since. The tribes had left and all around was nothing but dust and emptiness. Alone, she grieved.

Her father had been wise. An oracle. He had seen a distant future of pain and blood and ashes and dirt. It was he that had given her the second birth. A messenger for those that would be. But even a heart as strong as hers can falter. Her mind was made for a lifetime, not ages. Emptiness turned to grief and grief to hate. She cursed what she was a thousand and a thousand times.

When the wanderers found her she was as empty as the desert she was created in. They placed her in a fortress of stone as smooth as water. People as many as the stars in the sky passed by, but she was silent. Even as the stones fell from the sky she was mute, watching their towers and mighty tribes topple and fall.

She stood in ruins covered in snow as survivors came. When they sheltered in her shadow, there was peace, at last. She told them of what had been and what was to come. She guided them to the desert and as their children sang the hymns of water and earth and life and death she saw her father’s smile and was content.

 

[Swank]

It would be great to hear your thoughts about my last story.

A Daughter Of The Past
She was reborn during a night of snow. An occurrence so rare that the desert tribes gathered to sing praise when the sun rose.
They stood in the frigid flow of the green river while the red stone walls of the canyon carried their voices to the heavens. She listened with rapt attention to the hymns of water and earth, of life and death, and felt their love and joy.

To her that had been moments ago but it was generations since. The tribes had left and all around was nothing but dust and emptiness. Alone, she grieved.

Her father had been wise. An oracle. He had seen a distant future of pain and blood and ashes and dirt. It was he that had given her the second birth. A messenger for those that would be. But even a heart as strong as hers can falter. Her mind was made for a lifetime, not ages. Emptiness turned to grief and grief to hate. She cursed what she was a thousand and a thousand times.

When the wanderers found her she was as empty as the desert she was created in. They placed her in a fortress of stone as smooth as water. People as many as the stars in the sky passed by, but she was silent. Even as the stones fell from the sky she was mute, watching their towers and mighty tribes topple and fall.

She stood in ruins covered in snow as survivors came. When they sheltered in her shadow, there was peace, at last. She told them of what had been and what was to come. She guided them to the desert and as their children sang the hymns of water and earth and life and death she saw her father’s smile and was content.

I liked this story. But I didn't know what She actually is or what she symbolized. I also could not connect her to the theme photo, outside of her also being a sculpture - but that didn't really work with the first paragraph.

The prose is very pleasant - clear yet poetic. I can follow the nice allusions you use. I just wish I could understand more and reveal the depth I believe the story must have.

 

[Teresa Edgerton]

It would be great to hear your thoughts about my last story.

A Daughter Of The Past
She was reborn during a night of snow. An occurrence so rare that the desert tribes gathered to sing praise when the sun rose.
They stood in the frigid flow of the green river while the red stone walls of the canyon carried their voices to the heavens. She listened with rapt attention to the hymns of water and earth, of life and death, and felt their love and joy.

To her that had been moments ago but it was generations since. The tribes had left and all around was nothing but dust and emptiness. Alone, she grieved.

Her father had been wise. An oracle. He had seen a distant future of pain and blood and ashes and dirt. It was he that had given her the second birth. A messenger for those that would be. But even a heart as strong as hers can falter. Her mind was made for a lifetime, not ages. Emptiness turned to grief and grief to hate. She cursed what she was a thousand and a thousand times.

When the wanderers found her she was as empty as the desert she was created in. They placed her in a fortress of stone as smooth as water. People as many as the stars in the sky passed by, but she was silent. Even as the stones fell from the sky she was mute, watching their towers and mighty tribes topple and fall.

She stood in ruins covered in snow as survivors came. When they sheltered in her shadow, there was peace, at last. She told them of what had been and what was to come. She guided them to the desert and as their children sang the hymns of water and earth and life and death she saw her father’s smile and was content.

I came very close to voting for it. So I didn't actually find anything wrong with the story itself, and I thought it was beautifully written. But I couldn't see how the picture had inspired it. It wouldn't have taken much, but I didn't feel it met the challenge of finding inspiration somewhere in the picture. Maybe I was just being dense when I read through the stories. Had it been another Challenge and another picture I might well have voted for it.

 

[therapist]

@Aknot Your story stood out to me, and came very close to a vote. I really liked the prose and the ethereal tone you created, and remember reading it multiple times. I didn't vote because I felt I didn't really 'get' the story. Kind of like what Swank said in their last sentence.

 

[Christine Wheelwright]

I'm very curious what people thought about my story, where I went wrong, how you think it could be better etc. All comments welcome.

Pictures of him

I moved to a secluded lakeside cabin to work on my photography and to be alone. I thought I was immune to loneliness. But that notion was as foolish as my career aspirations.

I walk around the lake—same path I take everyday—snapping birds and trees and other mundane sh*t that no-one cares about.
I spot a lone figure standing waist deep in the lake. It’s been years since I’ve seen anyone around here. I spy from the tree-line, zooming in through my camera.
It’s not a person.
Its skin is scaly and grey, its arms too long with one joint too many. I approach for a closer shot but my hands are trembling. The thing begins wading towards me. It stops at the water’s edge and clicks several times.
It seems more curious than hostile, so I wave. It bends an arm over its head and clumsily waves back. I laugh, and it clicks again—now a percussive rhythm.
Eventually it retreats and disappears under the lake’s surface.

Next day I return, and it’s standing there again. I approach and say hello. It clicks in response. Then I just start chatting as if to a friend. This lasts for hours. It feels good to pretend.

A week later, and I’ve visited him (I call it a ‘him’ now) everyday. Each time more exciting than the last. It finally feels like I’m doing something important and meaningful with my life.
I compile my best photos of him. I need to share this with the world. Success, wealth, fame; all a click away…
So why aren’t I clicking?
I sleep instead.
The moment I wake up I rush to the lake. My friend is there, waiting. He does his goofy wave and I return it with an equally goofy smile.

—
Was the ending clear? I worry that my wording might've confused people with "all a click away". Maybe "all an e-mail away" would be better?

I quite like your writing and story ideas in general (I think I voted for a previous 75-worder of yours). In this story I feel there are a number of sentences that just don't feel quite right. Astro already pointed out "snapping birds and trees and other mundane sh*t that no-one cares about". It sounds conversational rather than carefully phrased. Maybe that's what you were aiming for, but in a storytelling context I don't think it works. It almost feels a little lazy. Same with this: "I spot a lone figure standing waist deep in the lake. It’s been years since I’ve seen anyone around here." Those two short sentences could easily have been combined into a single one; something with better flow. If I were you I would experiment with some more interesting sentence structures. How about: As I approach for a closer shot, my hands trembling, the thing begins wading towards me. A nice combo of two bland sentences into a single more interesting one.

 

[Aknot]

@therapist
@Teresa Edgerton
@Swank
Thank you for taking the time one to read my story and write down your impressions. I’m glad the prose and how I told the tale appeared to you. That the inspiration or connection to o the picture wasn’t clear is a tougher one.
I saw a metal statue of what, to me, looked like a woman. I focused rather on what the whole form was, not the details (the aquatic creatures). I study art part time and have a lot of focus right now on not seeing details but larger forms, which probably sent me in a different direction than most upon seeing it.
It’s an important point though that I wasn’t able to convey my interpretation of the picture better. A short and descriptive sentence might have solved it, even if it would have had to be at the expense of another line (it’s at the exact 300 limit).
Will keep it in mind for the next one.

The intended story was as follows:

A woman, living thousands of years ago in a primitive tribe, is transformed into the statue (reborn) by magic. Her father has a vision of her as a savior from an apocalyptic event far into the future. As a statue - yet alive - she can survive the eons until she is to deliver her warning. Waiting immobile is too much though and in anger/hate she does not give her warning. The event happens and she takes pity on the survivors and teaches them how to survive of the land. Basically us modern folks today.

 

[Christine Wheelwright]

@therapist
@Teresa Edgerton
@Swank
Thank you for taking the time one to read my story and write down your impressions. I’m glad the prose and how I told the tale appeared to you. That the inspiration or connection to o the picture wasn’t clear is a tougher one.
I saw a metal statue of what, to me, looked like a woman. I focused rather on what the whole form was, not the details (the aquatic creatures). I study art part time and have a lot of focus right now on not seeing details but larger forms, which probably sent me in a different direction than most upon seeing it.
It’s an important point though that I wasn’t able to convey my interpretation of the picture better. A short and descriptive sentence might have solved it, even if it would have had to be at the expense of another line (it’s at the exact 300 limit).
Will keep it in mind for the next one.

The intended story was as follows:

A woman, living thousands of years ago in a primitive tribe, is transformed into the statue (reborn) by magic. Her father has a vision of her as a savior from an apocalyptic event far into the future. As a statue - yet alive - she can survive the eons until she is to deliver her warning. Waiting immobile is too much though and in anger/hate she does not give her warning. The event happens and she takes pity on the survivors and teaches them how to survive of the land. Basically us modern folks today.

Aknot, I really enjoyed beginning to read this piece. You imparted a fantastical, mystical feeling to the reader very successfully. It does require the reader to pay very close attention though. I think that is normally fine, but in the competition scenario we are reading these stories back-to-back. Maybe a little more spoon-feeding of the narrative is required.

I think I got lost somewhere around the part where she fails to warn the people of the impending disaster (as she was created to do). I see it now though, upon rereading.

 

[Aknot]

@Christine Wheelwright

Appreciate the feedback and the advice. If you don’t mind me asking: how would you change the story to tell it more clearly? It’s a question open for anyone, of course.

 

[Swank]

A woman, living thousands of years ago in a primitive tribe, is transformed into the statue (reborn) by magic. Her father has a vision of her as a savior from an apocalyptic event far into the future. As a statue - yet alive - she can survive the eons until she is to deliver her warning. Waiting immobile is too much though and in anger/hate she does not give her warning. The event happens and she takes pity on the survivors and teaches them how to survive of the land. Basically us modern folks today.

That makes sense, but there isn't anything in the text to suggest the mechanics of her ability to become a statue and to go back to being able to speak, so the "teaching" part at the end feels more like teaching as in "a lesson of history" rather than communication. And the first transformation is also hard to divine because we commonly think of artists 'giving birth' to their art, rather than the creative act a transformation - so it was unlikely for anyone to realize that the statue started as a real person.

A classic clash between poetic allusion and explicit statement in prose.

 

[Astro Pen]

It would be great to hear your thoughts about my last story.

A Daughter Of The Past
She was reborn during a night of snow. An occurrence so rare that the desert tribes gathered to sing praise when the sun rose.
They stood in the frigid flow of the green river while the red stone walls of the canyon carried their voices to the heavens. She listened with rapt attention to the hymns of water and earth, of life and death, and felt their love and joy.

To her that had been moments ago but it was generations since. The tribes had left and all around was nothing but dust and emptiness. Alone, she grieved.

Her father had been wise. An oracle. He had seen a distant future of pain and blood and ashes and dirt. It was he that had given her the second birth. A messenger for those that would be. But even a heart as strong as hers can falter. Her mind was made for a lifetime, not ages. Emptiness turned to grief and grief to hate. She cursed what she was a thousand and a thousand times.

When the wanderers found her she was as empty as the desert she was created in. They placed her in a fortress of stone as smooth as water. People as many as the stars in the sky passed by, but she was silent. Even as the stones fell from the sky she was mute, watching their towers and mighty tribes topple and fall.

She stood in ruins covered in snow as survivors came. When they sheltered in her shadow, there was peace, at last. She told them of what had been and what was to come. She guided them to the desert and as their children sang the hymns of water and earth and life and death she saw her father’s smile and was content.

I voted for it, so my feelings are known. I am a poet, and to an extent it struck me more as prose poem than story. Don't worry about 'how' things happen, you can leave that open. It is about emotions and symbolism. If you had started explaining 'mechanisms' it would have killed it stone dead.

( A small change: I think you can omit "An oracle." it nudges things toward cliche.)
The later repetition of "the hymns of water and earth and life and death" Is a nice touch connecting the ten and now.
Astro.

 

[therapist]

Thanks Astro, Swank, and Christine for your feedback and kind words. And Christine again for your advice to experiment with more interesting sentence structure. (I just downloaded a couple of books on the matter, looking forward to reading them).

If you don’t mind me asking: how would you change the story to tell it more clearly? It’s a question open for anyone, of course.

After reading your intention, and rereading your story, I found the penultimate paragraph to be the most unclear.
Your intention was that she didn't give her warning because of anger/hate. But in the story you just mention she was silent and mute without making it clear that it was an intentional choice. I assumed she was silent/mute because she was a statue that couldn't speak.
I think you could fix this with a very small change of word choice. eg instead of "she was silent", you could say "she stayed/remained silent" or "she kept her silence".

 

[paranoid marvin]

I think that it's important in any form of contest to consider the rules that determine what is and isn't eligible. Three hundred words is (relatively) easy enough to determine, but the inspiration that is gathered from a photograph can be much more elusive. The more obscure or profound your inspiration, the more chance you have of others not seeing the connection.

Aknot, I was very taken by your writing. As others have said, it is very poetic and easy to read. However I didn't find your story easy to understand. The idea of being 'reborn' initially confused me, and I was sure if this was a person, an object or a spirit. I think for the understanding of your story, it may have been easier to convey if the 'father' had created a sculpture or statue that was self aware, rather than someone who had previously lived and whose consciousness had someone been transferred into unliving material?

Her father had been wise. An oracle. He had seen a distant future of pain and blood and ashes and dirt. It was he that had given her the second birth. A messenger for those that would be. But even a heart as strong as hers can falter. Her mind was made for a lifetime, not ages. Emptiness turned to grief and grief to hate. She cursed what she was a thousand and a thousand times.

I think that this is the paragraph where you get your opportunity to explain the meaning of your story. I agree with previous comments that 'an oracle' is not needed. Perhaps it may be better to describe him as an artist , or a sculptor? I would also question the use of 'heart' which again could imply a living being.

I've just quickly put together an alternative to the beginning of this paragraph, including the comments I've listed above.

Her father (creator?) had been a visionary and an artisan. He had seen a distant future of pain and blood; of ashes and dirt. It was he who had sculpted her into this frame; consciousness infused into cold, immutable steel. She was to be an oracle, a source of comfort and inspiration for generations to come.

Even as the stones fell from the sky

The first time I read this, I assumed that it was the stonework of the building in which she had been placed. Now I think that it was some disaster (meteors?) Personally I would have made this more clear, and replaced this with something more clear - perhaps replace 'stones' with meterorites?

Hope some of my comments help, but you do write very beautifully and I look forward to reading your future entries to the Challenge.

 

[Aknot]

@therapist
Thank you for the suggestion. Appreciated.
@paranoid marvin
Thank you for taking the time to write this down and thank you for the kind words. The suggested changes helps a lot.
I think it’s quite clear over the past few entries that a common mistake I make is not taking the time to ask myself if my intended story comes across clearly enough.
@Astro Pen
Appreciate the vote and very glad you liked it. It’s great to hear why you liked it and what would have made it less appealing in your view.
@Swank
Thanks for the additional comments.

 

[THX1138]

I know what was wrong with my 300 word and unfortunately, I submitted it before I had a chance to review my 75- and 100-word critiques and it suffers from the same incompletion problems as the others did.

So, I took a few days to rewrite it based on the input I received after my initial submission.

Your input on this revision? Thanks everyone!


The Dominant Spore (revised)

“Do you know what they are?” Sue asked, her flashlight shone on the large cropping of surreal glowing giant mushrooms before them.

Dave set his pack down and rubbed his chin. “It’s a parasite, Sue. And it looks like there are more appearing further up the mountain.”

Sue was speechless as she watched several more iridescent patches of light appear in the darkness.

Dave started gathering supplies from the pack. “They’re called Twilight Paint Palettes, and unless we stop them before sunrise, they’ll cave in the mountain side and cause an avalanche.”

“An avalanche? That’ll destroy the town down below!”

Dave gave a concerning shrug, “Most likely. So, we need to move fast.”

He handed her and small bottle and several bamboo skewers. “Watch what I do and pay attention to my instructions.” He advanced towards the parasite before them. “Dip a skewer into the bottle and then insert it down through the mass and quickly move on to the next one.”

Its vibrant colors faded as the colony melted. Sue moved away just as the ground surrounding it caved in.

“I can’t do this!” she nervously explained.

“Yes, you can Susan! Just stay calm and move quickly. And don’t fall into any of the sinkholes, the poison needs sunlight to neutralize it.”

Remembering her family and friends in the town down below, Sue took a deep breath and exhaled. “OK, let’s go.”

Throughout the night, they worked together while crisscrossing up the mountainside, smothering every glowing outcrop they encountered. And when sunrise came the town below stirred to life, unaware of the battle that occurred above them in their sleep.

“You have a knack for this, Sue. Let’s head down and get some breakfast, I hear the mushroom omelets are…”

“No Dave! I never want to see another mushroom again, thanks!”

 

[Christine Wheelwright]

There is a subtle error in the first line. I know that is the kind of thing that puts a lot of potential voters off.

“Do you know what they are?” Sue asked, her flashlight shone on the large cropping of....

...would be better written as:

"Do you know what they are?" Sue asked, shining her flashlight on the large cropping of....

Or....

"Do you know what they are?" Sue asked, as she shone her flashlight on the large cropping of...

Although the story is written in the past tense, the description of an action is contemporaneous with the action, so it is either in the present tense or shown, by the use of the word 'as', to be taking place at the same time. If you put the description of the action in a new sentence it would revert to past tense:

"Do you know what they are?" Sue asked. She shone her flashlight on the large cropping of...

I'm sure there are better explanations of the rules around this (anyone?).

Regarding the story itself, I think it might be missing a twist. In other words it is too straight forward. Perhaps they might miss a more deadly threat to the village while they are focussed on the mushrooms. Perhaps they misuse an anti fungus kit because the instructions dont show up in the iridescent light. Perhaps - and this is my favorite - they are hallucinating and kill the villagers while the mushrooms are waiting for them in the restaurant below. Anyway, I think it needs a bit more of a kick.

 

[THX1138]

@Christine Wheelwright I have to laugh at myself for that one. I have "shining" there to begin with and just before posting, I changed it to 'shone' instead. The same for the 'as' also.
I see what you mean about it needing a twist. Looking at it in your light, there is no twist to it at all.

Thanks! You gave me some good insight.