How to Write a very Short Story

Writing a very short story

Hints for writing very short fiction. An ability to see things in objects or events that do not exist, but could be? What can I do to learn how to write short stories? For most of us, the love affair ended there. The most definitions of a short story focus on the following key points:.

Hints for very brief fiction writings

From work our dad comes home, complaining and bloating. From the old Ford he gets into the building and snorts, brushes past my brothers and myself as we try to grasp his belted straps and cuff him. She is pushed out of our father's way and sat on the edge of the couch, because he "has to answer and uncompress queries all the time.

Then we look at her, quietly. Groping through our nourishment as we think about our tripping dad to the shed, we begin to grasp him. He keeps his mysteries in the shed, the echo of long ago, the infinitely still, the inexpressible and the sad:

He is a strong tessellated man of his past: his mutilated seven-year-old legs speckled with a straying shot from a boyfriend; the 8-5 folds surrounding his lecherous eye; the shattered All-State limbs that hurt forever; his reddish, puffy ankles and his Vietnamebrain. We don't quite imagine him, our dad. It was that evening when he took us home after a little promo at the station and some snails.

When we arrived at the door of the shed, he pulled us up to draw the handle that would give us a bright glow in the day. We could scent the warmth of his breathing on his breast, making our tears run down, and then the lamps went on one after the other, lighting a part of the Quail Harbour at a while.

There was no story about how our great-grandfather made Quail Haven all those years ago, or how he dropped his cherry right over there in the hard-wood loft, or the fights he had with his little boyfriend here (who was killed in the battle, whom we only know from a painting, spoiled like parchment), while her dad watched, smiling, leanting at the splintering side, thumb looped through jeans.

However, the darkness in which he took us was different. As the last day in Quail Haven came to shine, the great stillness of the whole thing fired through my bro and me, like when we went into an empty temple before our first burial, which led us to grasp him tougher and more tight.

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