Short short story assignment

Hello.  It has been a while since I posted.  I had lots of “stuff” going on and really just got out of it for a bit.  I know I don’t have many followers at the moment anyway, but I hope to start blogging regularly now.  And what I thought I would do some of the time is to share some of my writing.

It might be flash fiction, like what I’m about to share, poetry, writing exercises I do, and so on.  What I’m sharing today is from a writing course I’m taking at the moment through Nanowrimo.  It is on Coursera.  The assignment was to write a short story with no more than 600 words.  It was to have movement, a beginning, middle, and end, and use nouns and verbs as the building blocks.  The assignment after that was to cut the story in half.  I didn’t exactly do that because mine wasn’t anywhere near 600 words to begin with. But I did edit it in some of the ways suggested, such as cutting out modifiers, extraneous words, and so on.  I’m happy with how it turned out, and I hope you like it too.

Note:  For some reason it is not keeping my format with my tabs.  If anyone knows how to fix this, please let me know.  Thanks.

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Final draft of my short short story:

He stands at the grave, silent and still. Tentative. He doesn’t know I’m watching. I don’t make a sound.

Now he makes a movement. The same one he makes every time he comes here. He turns, as if to leave, then turns back. Places a single red rose on the tombstone. Straightens. Begins to speak, hesitates. “I…I miss you.” He’s relieved, I think. As if he’s been holding it in for an eternity.

I don’t hide when he turns. He doesn’t see me.

He comes every Tuesday, and he performs the same set of actions each time he visits. Next, he cries. Kneels. Or rather, crumples, and sobs. I am intruding on his grief, but I cannot look away. I am compelled to watch him. His pain is my punishment. I must watch. Besides, I have nowhere I have to be.

I want to go to him, comfort him. But I can’t.

After sobbing, he stands, brushes the dirt from his knees, and wipes his tears with the underside of his shirt sleeve. He always dresses the same. Pleated, black dress pants. Crisp, white button up shirt, tucked in, top button open, no tie. Black blazer, also open. Shined black loafers.

He speaks of his week, of his nine to five job and its tediousness. Of the paintings he’s working on in his spare time. His therapy. “Better than seeing a shrink,” he jokes.

I laugh, silently.

“Where shall we go tonight, my angel?” he asks next.

Hearing his pet name for his love makes me want to weep.

“My angel.”

I see it carved on the tombstone, beneath her name.

My name.

Tuesday was our date night. He still goes, alone. A restaurant, and either a movie or a walk in the park. My heart breaks because I cannot go with him. And because he keeps doing this. And mostly because I know he will eventually stop. And it will be the right thing. We will both be free. For now, I watch, and I listen. I cannot give him comfort.

Instead, I whisper his name. Whisper, “I love you.” Whisper, “Be free.”

Writing a Novel when you have a chronic illness

So, some of you will know what fibromyalgia is, and some may have heard of it but don’t know anything about it, and some few might not have heard of it at all.  If you haven’t, you can google it and find tons of info.

This post is not about fibromyalgia, but it’s a part of it, as it affects every area of a person’s life, which in my case, includes writing.

I started working on a novel during Nanowrimo (another thing not everyone knows about–look it up if you’re curious) 2015, and I’m still working on it.  It’s a historical thriller, set in 1890’s NYC, and I am enthusiastic about it.  I’m not stuck, I’m not procrastinating.  It’s just, my fibro is not always enthusiastic about my writing projects.

Some days I have the energy to get some good work done, which for me is 5 pages or more, and other days, I can push myself and just get around 2 or 3 pages (handwritten–I always handwrite my projects before I type them up), and some days I can’t get any work at all done, as much as I want to.  And I really do want to.

I’m participating in “Camp Nanowrimo”, which is a spring and summer version of Nanowrimo (which occurs in April and in July each year), where you have “cabins” and can set any goal you want, not necessarily the standard 50,000 that “wins” the original Nanowrimo.  I set my goal for this month at 10,000 words, and so far I’ve got a little over 3,000 written.  So yes, I’m behind on my goal, but I don’t rule out being able to catch up.  And all I can do is try my best.  And hey, sometimes, after a good rest, I find I have the energy to get some writing done when before I wouldn’t have.

Are any of you writers out there participating in Camp Nano?  Any of you writers with chronic illness?  Would love for you to share your story/what projects you’re working on, and/or tips in the comments. And never give up, no matter how far behind you are or if you think you’ll never be able to finish your project.  You just have to keep trying, and eventually you’ll get there.  And so will I.

July 23rd Edit:  As you can see from the attacked photo, I’m still far behind on my 10,000 word goal for this month.  But I’m not giving up on catching up still.  And even if I don’t get 10,000, at least I’ll have gotten some writing done, and that is the point.  Even if you can’t write much, don’t give up.  You will get there, slowly but surely.