Week Eighteen: Suicidal guy who comes to the brink and back, renewed purpose

 

Alright, so I wasn't going to post this one. One of the prompts for Microfiction Week was already about suicide. You're going to start to get the wrong idea about Freshman Me. 

But I am posting it for Week Eighteen, because it turns out to be the final prompt in the Freshman year box! After this, we are Sophomores. Expect the caliber of writing prompts to be either sophisticated or sophomoric. (Probably both, but moreso the latter.)

For this week, it does not have to be a guy. He or she does not even need to be suicidal. How about there is a difficult decision of some kind, some angst or discord about it, and a decision that shows change of some kind.

300 words! Sunday! Midnight!

Week Thirteen: Beautified!

Week Thirteen's completed challenge can be found here!

Is it a prose poem? Microfiction? Creative nonfiction? Good? Bad? Odious? Cathartic? Awkward? Empathetic? Self-centered? Big-hearted?

It is for you to decide. 

Reflections tomorrow, followed by Week Fourteen!

Week Twelve: Burned!

Week Twelve's completed challenge can be found here!

Is it a poem? Microfiction? It's short, that's for sure. But I think it says everything I wanted to.

Reflections tomorrow, followed by Week Thirteen on Friday!

Reflections on Week Ten

[Read the completed story here!]

This one was shockingly not at all difficult for me. Is it that Microfiction Week detonated all my blocks and barriers, or did Dean Wesley Smith's advice inspire me to better discipline, or both? Whatever the case, I seem to have a much easier time with nonfiction than I do with fiction. Writing Week Five's story (once I knew what to write) was also a great experience. 

I drafted this a bit differently than the others: probably for the first time ever, I put no pressure on myself for this thing to make sense. In my half-hour each morning I would just try to capture a few moments or feelings I remember having during my year as an adjunct college professor. These little scenes were in no order whatsoever, and I didn't have any idea how each of them (or any) would fit into a larger narrative. (In Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott advises trying to describe only what you could see in a one-inch by one-inch picture frame. Without realizing this at the time, it's pretty much what I was doing here.)

Once I had over 2,000 words, I printed it off and cut each vignette into a separate strip of paper. Then I launched a hostile takeover of the kitchen table, as can be seen below:

[Yes—those scissors are pink.]

I know I've read a few times that this is a great way to revise a story, but of course I've always been too much of a procrastinating perfectionist control freak to actually give it a try. I'm glad I did—I was pretty easily able to group the slips by chronological sequence and emotional throughline. Several of them didn't fit anywhere, and that too was quickly apparent. And some others were created in revision to bridge gaps. 

I'm pretty happy with the end result, but kind of sad that I had to stop. I didn't touch at all on all the plagiarism (unintentionial and the other kind) I encountered, or the challenge of teaching non-native English speakers something I barely understood myself. At some point down the road, once I have some distance, I'll probably revisit this piece and expand it, maybe even submit it somewhere. 

Anyway, give it a read and tell me what you think!

Reflections on Week Nine

[Read the completed stories here!]

That was the most fun I've had with one of these yet. It was also the most organized I've been—prompts were scheduled to be posted in advance (you don't really think I was up at 4am do you?) and I had already completed each challenge a day or two before they were due. This gave me time to revise if needed. 

Also, because the goal was truly just to burn through these truly awful "ideas," I was able to relax and experiment a bit more than usual. 

And, folks, we didn't even get through all of them. I mean, these prompts are all terrible to some extent—I was learning, okay?!—but many more are, well, like Wednesday's. 

We'll have to do another microfiction week soon. Perhaps real soon!

Week Ten will be posted next Tuesday, as I am on vacation until then. You will just have to wait. I know, I know. And I am sorry. 

Okay, I'm vacation sorry. It's an insincere sort of regret. That's the best I can do for you.

See you soon!

Week Nine, Friday

...'Cause, like, sex? And... har har? You know?

You know.

The completed story can be found here!

Week Nine, Thursday

Ah, another double entendre, à la Tuesday's prompt. (My French is really coming along, don't you think?)

There's a lot going on here, so let's take a moment to deconstruct this a little.

You see, sometimes, a person can see past all your layers and defenses and know immediately what you're about. We call this "seeing through" someone.

But sometimes, sometimes, a person can look at you and see nothing. As if you were not even there. And that's called "looking through" someone.

"Seeing" and "looking" are synonyms, and yet, in this context, they could not be expressing something more different. Let's... hoo boy. Let's just let this settle in. Wow, you know?

The completed story can be found here!

Week Nine, Wednesday

Ha ha ha ohhhh dear sweet melodramatic Freshman me. I have so many questions for you.

How does one even measure poetic force? (What's the SI unit on that?)

Does a faucet, dripping or otherwise, contain any poetic force at all?

Are you just very passionate about not wasting water?

Whatever's going on, I'm not sure it's that you're tired. Shhh. C'mon buddy. It's okay. You can talk to me.

The completed story can be found here! 

Week Nine, Tuesday

Yep. Is this train inbound... or sinbound?

I can't remember if someone had actually graffitied an "S" onto an INBOUND sign or if this was ingenuousness of my own imagining.

I do remember that I thought this was just intensely clever. So much potential here. Can't you see it?

SINBOUND!

...Yeah.

The completed story can be found here!

Week Nine, Monday

Cheery, huh?

Look, most neophype scribes go through a "suicide = profound" phase. It doesn't mean every writer is depressed. We're just inward-looking people who have to work out some stuff, clear our collective throats if you will, before we can start working on things that are not, well, this.

And anyway, the subject matter doesn't necessarily make a story clichéd. It's what you do with it. So there.

The completed story can be found here!