Writing Fiction & Short Stories

First things first, I want to finally say thank you for subscribing to my site blog- I truly appreciate your interest in my writing.

I think writing is fun. Making stories out of nothing but imagination is like painting a picture. For most of my life I have enjoyed painting too. It was only recently (last year) that I started writing fiction. The blank page is like a blank canvas and I can put anything on it. Similar to a painting, the reader can see the story in their own unique way. Unlike with movies, the reader gets to decide what the characters look like. I remember watching movies after having read the book and thinking things like, “sparkly or not, this guy (Edward Cullen, Twilight) doesn’t look as good as I thought.” Fun fact: If my novel ever makes it to the screen, I already have a cast in mind.

I know a lot of writers (rightfully) plan out their story outline from front to back for book writing, but I find, at least for me, short stories don’t really require the same treatment. I like to think you can start them and just see where they take you. It’s like my very own adventure, figuring out where my imagined people are going and what will happen to them.

Writing prompts are helpful though. Recently I wrote a short story for a Vocal. It was a dystopian/apocalyptic theme:“Doomsday Diary” and the two requirements were that it be between 500 and 2,000 words and make mention of a heart-shaped locket.

Since I have completed my novel to a point where I now need a variety of others’ insights and I have passed my unpublished efforts onto a small group of readers (Beta) for their feedback, I have been able to enjoy some short story writing. I really think the best part of creating is learning what my readers thought or felt about it. So, I’d love it if you would give this one a read and a “like” if you are so inclined.

Nuclear Nowhere

Six months ago, Chris and I had been sitting in a cafe in the French Quarter, watching the small elevated TV set in the corner for the news while sipping lattes together. He held my hand across the small wrought iron table. He glanced at me occasionally for my reaction. The news was disturbing but neither of us could really remember a time when it wasn’t. It was easy to become anxious about these headlines surrounding the tension building with axis countries over trade disputes and sanctions but we both thought it would resolve. These things usually did resolve. We could not have been more wrong.

Now, I turn my silver locket over in my palm. Using my ragged thumbnail I wedge it open. His face, cut in the shape of a heart to fit inside the small frame, peers back at me. I haven’t seen him since the day it all happened. That was about five months ago. Five. I feel fairly certain this locket was gifted to me on our 5th anniversary. When you lose someone you love you feel confident that you will never forget them. But it doesn’t take long before you find yourself forgetting the facts of your own memories, before you discover you are having to try hard to remember the details of their face. It’s absurd to me how quickly I’ve forgotten the shape of his sparkling green eyes, the strength of his chiseled jaw, his thick, dark ruffled hair. I am thankful for this tangible memory in my hand. I spend a lot of my free time imagining Chris, attempting to recall my memories. But I also wonder what he might be doing now. I can only assume he is dead but the silly romantic girl in me still holds on to the hope that we might find each other again. I make a point to think about him because I can’t stand the thought of his memory slipping away entirely.

I am sitting in a broken chair in the hot sun. I don’t have anywhere I want to be right now so I am observing the others who occupy my camp. This is my only entertainment now. A little brunette girl is washing her hands from the spout of a large Gatorade bucket. Her mother is holding the button for her while she rubs them together frantically. They are being monitored for usage by a middle-aged man who is holding a clipboard. There are conservation efforts in effect due to the drought. Running water doesn’t seem like much of an amenity until you no longer have it. At least it wasn’t one I regularly considered. As I sit here in my filthy cut-off jeans and a grungy used-to-be-white tank top which I hand-washed in a bucket of rainwater about a month ago, I touch the ends of my ratty pony-tail that hangs over my visibly dirty shoulder and I begin to daydream about the last shower I took.

It was the morning that it happened. I was with Christopher in his small dated apartment tub-shower. For nearly ten years, we did everything together, showers were no exception. The water had been at its hottest, the small bathroom was entirely filled with steam. The tiled floor would be slick whenever we finally got out but we weren’t in any hurry. It was just another Saturday morning and he didn’t have to work til noon. I lathered my hair with the luxurious over-priced shampoo and combed the even pricier conditioner through my long blonde hair. He ran a shower pouf over my back and massaged my shoulders. The smell was thick and sweet combined with the humidity. It was a tropical rainforest with hints of artificial mango and papaya. I would have stayed here forever if I could, my eyes closed with the clear water running over my face. The shower was my favorite place, getting clean was always a good feeling. Now, I would settle for a bucket just to wash any part of myself. I wasn’t even going to be able to wash my hands again for several hours.

That morning, after our shower, Chris had left for work on foot. He would grab a trolley to the Garden District where he was overseeing a private event for the “frou-frou people” as he called the overly wealthy people living in the extravagant garden homes. My plans for the day were very few. I was going to walk our Yorkie, Sir Elton, through the Quarter, grab a coffee and come back to the couch, put on sweatpants and watch Netflix until 8 or 9 when Chris would be back. I was a nurse and worked long shifts so I took advantage of my time off.

“Best laid plans” as they say.

Read the rest here!!! https://vocal.media/fiction/nuclear-nowhere?fbclid=IwAR1UynnpP6XWIVk8DupANHeTW0z0dpxotHjoo7St2XZBAt2XDg-qPL0t9DQ