Tuesday, March 01, 2011

Short Story Ideas

In the last three or four months I've begun to work on a few short story ideas that crept into my brain over the last year and threaten to turn me into a newt if I didn't work to get them down in some sort of semi-permanent form.  Of course, my brain also tells me that these stories will both simultaneously win every major award for short story writing ever conceived, while also being roundly rejected and ridiculed for the being the sort of useless tripe that infects our society these days.  Such is the mind of a writer...

So here's a first paragraph from the two stories I've been tossing around.  Maybe I'll even try to finish them this year... ya never know....

The first story is an as-yet-titled mystery set in a pulp-fiction 1930's, where trolls and ogres wear gangster suits and detectives are as likely to use forensic science as magical spells to solve a crime:


The still gray waters of the lake reflected the bright colors of autumn from all sides, and as I stood looking out over the railing, it was fall the way I remembered it. Not the feeble falls I had grown used to since I moved to Baltimore, with muted browns and dingy yellows, leaves not falling until almost December, some holding on until January. An industrial, slow, tired fall. Baltimore seemed almost to regret its autumnal season, as though the idea of shedding its summer trappings was a ridiculous concept better left to other less sensible and dignified cities.
But in this case the lake was surrounded by vibrant reds and yellows, rich oranges, the kind of colors from up north, where leaves do not ponder their choices but make a brisk change of outer wear come the end of August, displaying all their fanciest finery for September, and go to sleep promptly before Halloween. This lake clearly recalled the splendor of a proper autumn, and had coaxed its trees to produce accordingly. I tipped my fedora to it and whatever dryads or nyads mucked about with things here as I waited for my contact.


Story two is a bit of hard sci fi, set in a future where homeless spacefarers scrounge and scrap for enough to barter for passage... anywhere but here...



Zone 53 is the good one. Manitoba and I have drawn the good lot this time, the one with the real intresting stuff. I've never worked 53, but most of the others have one time or nuther. Old Jim even found a few ounces of platinum wiring, and a Bell Poxy model 503 that worked. Mostly worked anyways, once we got it plugged up and a good current going. He was gonna keep it, but decided to take the pay out and left on the next liner out. Going home he said. Although I don't think Jim really ever had a home, his stories were always about being someplace else from when he could first remember places.

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