Make sure you check out the list of writing tips I posted earlier today! It's the blog post right below this one.
And, in keeping with that theme, here is today's first line:
Monday, June 25, 2012
The only writing advice you'll ever need.
I came across this little gem on the interwebs and had to share. May Quicksies help you with at least one or two of these steps each day.
~Lisa
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~Lisa
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Sunday, June 24, 2012
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Friday, June 15, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Monday, June 11, 2012
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Monday, June 4, 2012
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Daily First Line -- 6/3/12
Today's first line comes from Tim Steffen again. And farther down on the page, I posted what I wrote using his first line as a starting point. Write yours first before reading mine. And feel free to email me what you write -- I'd love to read it, and to post it so everyone can see how different stories can be even using the same first line.
The first line:
A sci-fi quicksie
Tim Steffen submitted a few first lines for me to use in the blog. Today's comes from him. Below is what I wrote as a result.
I love this story. First of all, I love science fiction, so it's no wonder I went in that direction. But even more, this is a perfect example of how you must not stop to "fix" anything when you're doing this exercise.
As I wrote, I was aware of the inconsistencies. My main character's age and city change within the span of a few paragraphs. I had forgotten how old I made him when I referenced it again, so I guessed. I knew the newspaper and city name didn't match, but I kept going because the timer was running.
Without that timer spurring me on, I would've spent who-knows how long figuring out where I wanted to set the story, and making all of the details consistent. I couldn't even remember what I named him, and I admit I did take half a second to glance at the top of the page to see what name I'd given him, so at least I could keep that consistent.
But that's not what these exercises are about. That kind of work is for the first rewrite. Quicksies are for following inspiration and letting ideas fly from your brain into your fingers. Reading back over this exercise, I see all kinds of seeds planted that I could develop through a much longer story. I'm especially interested to find out why people are dying of boredom.
So, I hope this exercise encourages you to keep doing your daily quicksies. I've been doing this exercise for years, and this is only the 4th or 5th time that I've come up with something that I really want to explore and develop. Keep at it, and you'll be surprised with what your brain gives you!
Love,
Lisa
======================================================================
He opened up to the obituaries and saw his name. He knew it had to be a mistake. He was a 35-year-old stock broker, not an ageing man with liver failure and four children and nine grandchildren.
Yet there it was, staring back at him. His name. His own name. His middle name. His parents’ names preceded in death by. What was this?
He flipped to the front of the paper again. The New York Times, blazoned right there at the top of the paper, in the familiar old font.
Wait a minute. The date. The date was today’s date. But the year was 2045?? How could that be?
He flipped back to the obituaries. He read other names. Birth dates in the 1960s, ‘70s, ‘80s. A few in the 21st Century, dead of accidents, horrible disease, ennui.
Ennui? People could die of boredom? Apparently, here in the year 2045 – if it really was the year 2045 – people could die of ennui.
Chuck went to the window and looked out. Sure enough, the landscape had all changed. No longer did his apartment overlook the Lake Erie and east side of Cleveland that he knew so well. There was a bit of water there, somewhere, under lots of landing pads. And sure enough, there were some flying cars!
It MUST be the future! The flying cars were proof! Only the future has flying cars!
Well, he had to admit it might be a stretch to call them flying cars. More like helicopters with wheels and retractible blades. But that was close enough to flying cars. They landed, they drove off the landing strip, and they headed down East 9th Street to Euclid Avenue.
What was going on? Chuck ran to the mirror. He saw his same face peering back at him. That certainly was not 30 years older than it should have been. He was still a 45-year-old stock broker getting ready for work.
He looked around his apartment. It was still his apartment. Nothing looked out of place. He still had his old stuff that he loved. His was a Traditional taste, so the apartment could’ve looked appropriate in any year. Yeah, staying in here didn’t give him much of a clue. He had to go outside.
He finished dressing, put the paper under his arm (as tangible proof of the insanity ahead), and walked out the front door.
That’s when everything changed.
The moment he stepped out of his front door, he felt like he had walked through some sort of gooey electrical field. The hair on his arms stood up, his muscles had to work a little harder, like they were fighting against something, and his vision got a little blurry, like he had something in his eye.
Once he was in his hallway, he felt fine. He looked back into his apartment. It looked OK. He walked back through his doorway and it was as if his apartment sucked him in. His body suddenly sped up and moved quicker than he thought possible, back into his foyer.
What the fuck was going on?
He walked back out the front door again, through the gooey electricity. He reached back to pull his door closed and his arm was momentarily sucked into the apartment, nearly ripping the limb out of his shoulder socket. He managed to get his door closed and locked, hoping that he’d return home tonight and find everything inside still OK.
Now... What was he going to find outside?
Hurdle one: The elevator.
Chuck walked to where the elevator should be, but he found only a large silver disk on the floor. He must’ve walked up and down the hallway a dozen times to see what he could find, but everywhere it was the same. Doors with numbers on them into the apartments, but no elevator.
He walked back to the silver disk and cautiously stepped a foot onto it. No gooey electrical field. He tentatively walked forward and stepped all the way onto the disk. Nothing happened. He looked up and saw what looked like a speaker overhead.
On a whim, he said, “Lobby, please.”
I love this story. First of all, I love science fiction, so it's no wonder I went in that direction. But even more, this is a perfect example of how you must not stop to "fix" anything when you're doing this exercise.
As I wrote, I was aware of the inconsistencies. My main character's age and city change within the span of a few paragraphs. I had forgotten how old I made him when I referenced it again, so I guessed. I knew the newspaper and city name didn't match, but I kept going because the timer was running.
Without that timer spurring me on, I would've spent who-knows how long figuring out where I wanted to set the story, and making all of the details consistent. I couldn't even remember what I named him, and I admit I did take half a second to glance at the top of the page to see what name I'd given him, so at least I could keep that consistent.
But that's not what these exercises are about. That kind of work is for the first rewrite. Quicksies are for following inspiration and letting ideas fly from your brain into your fingers. Reading back over this exercise, I see all kinds of seeds planted that I could develop through a much longer story. I'm especially interested to find out why people are dying of boredom.
So, I hope this exercise encourages you to keep doing your daily quicksies. I've been doing this exercise for years, and this is only the 4th or 5th time that I've come up with something that I really want to explore and develop. Keep at it, and you'll be surprised with what your brain gives you!
Love,
Lisa
======================================================================
Yet there it was, staring back at him. His name. His own name. His middle name. His parents’ names preceded in death by. What was this?
He flipped to the front of the paper again. The New York Times, blazoned right there at the top of the paper, in the familiar old font.
Wait a minute. The date. The date was today’s date. But the year was 2045?? How could that be?
He flipped back to the obituaries. He read other names. Birth dates in the 1960s, ‘70s, ‘80s. A few in the 21st Century, dead of accidents, horrible disease, ennui.
Ennui? People could die of boredom? Apparently, here in the year 2045 – if it really was the year 2045 – people could die of ennui.
Chuck went to the window and looked out. Sure enough, the landscape had all changed. No longer did his apartment overlook the Lake Erie and east side of Cleveland that he knew so well. There was a bit of water there, somewhere, under lots of landing pads. And sure enough, there were some flying cars!
It MUST be the future! The flying cars were proof! Only the future has flying cars!
Well, he had to admit it might be a stretch to call them flying cars. More like helicopters with wheels and retractible blades. But that was close enough to flying cars. They landed, they drove off the landing strip, and they headed down East 9th Street to Euclid Avenue.
What was going on? Chuck ran to the mirror. He saw his same face peering back at him. That certainly was not 30 years older than it should have been. He was still a 45-year-old stock broker getting ready for work.
He looked around his apartment. It was still his apartment. Nothing looked out of place. He still had his old stuff that he loved. His was a Traditional taste, so the apartment could’ve looked appropriate in any year. Yeah, staying in here didn’t give him much of a clue. He had to go outside.
He finished dressing, put the paper under his arm (as tangible proof of the insanity ahead), and walked out the front door.
That’s when everything changed.
The moment he stepped out of his front door, he felt like he had walked through some sort of gooey electrical field. The hair on his arms stood up, his muscles had to work a little harder, like they were fighting against something, and his vision got a little blurry, like he had something in his eye.
Once he was in his hallway, he felt fine. He looked back into his apartment. It looked OK. He walked back through his doorway and it was as if his apartment sucked him in. His body suddenly sped up and moved quicker than he thought possible, back into his foyer.
What the fuck was going on?
He walked back out the front door again, through the gooey electricity. He reached back to pull his door closed and his arm was momentarily sucked into the apartment, nearly ripping the limb out of his shoulder socket. He managed to get his door closed and locked, hoping that he’d return home tonight and find everything inside still OK.
Now... What was he going to find outside?
Hurdle one: The elevator.
Chuck walked to where the elevator should be, but he found only a large silver disk on the floor. He must’ve walked up and down the hallway a dozen times to see what he could find, but everywhere it was the same. Doors with numbers on them into the apartments, but no elevator.
He walked back to the silver disk and cautiously stepped a foot onto it. No gooey electrical field. He tentatively walked forward and stepped all the way onto the disk. Nothing happened. He looked up and saw what looked like a speaker overhead.
On a whim, he said, “Lobby, please.”
.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Friday, June 1, 2012
Daily First Line -- 6/1/12
June 1st. Summertime here in the northern hemisphere! Lazy, hazy days. That means a LOT of time to write. Whether it's early in the morning or late in the evening, you have a lot of extra daylight keeping you energized. Use that energy to write for ten minutes a day.
Here's your prompt for today:
Here's your prompt for today:
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