Don’t rush the scene you are writing. Expand it. Play with ideas; you don’t have to keep them, and they may lead to others that improve the story.

Don’t rush the scene you are writing. Expand it. Play with ideas; you don’t have to keep them, and they may lead to others that improve the story.


I completed the final edit of a story the other week; proud of a killer story. Yesterday, I saw a call for submissions that was perfect for it in all ways, it ticked every box, stroked all the editor’s needs, even I fitted the requirement. Everything matched, except for the word count: the story was 1500 words, the editor required 1200 max. (no, really, 1200 firm, I know because I asked). Originally, the piece was 2000 words, so I had been quite ruthless already, and could not imagine losing a further twenty percent.
I continued to check other markets while some needle-monkey inside my head told me that that first one was decent, and it was the right story. Treat it as an exercise, I thought. So I did, after making a copy of the first version.
That story is now 1198 words and has been mailed to the editor. I’m chuffed, thinking: I didn’t ruin it, it’s a tighter story. I guess that truth will be proved with an acceptance.
The current version of Hashtag Rewilding has entered its resting period; in a few weeks time I shall reopen the folder and begin the final draft.
Another tale, that of Midwinter Hill, is already being tapped onto the screen. A ghost story set at Christmas time in contemporary England, Midwinter Hill draws upon theories in forest ecology for some of its inspiration; mainly on the social networks of trees as studied by Suzanne Simard and her team (listen to her TED Talk: ‘How Trees Talk To Each Other’), and the bestselling book, The Hidden Life of Trees by Pete Wohlleben, which I am currently reading.
And the story isn’t even set in woodland.
This fascinating live stream from the International Wolf Center has been playing most of the time I have been working on Hashtag Rewilding. Enjoy.
If you ignore the niggling voice in your head telling you what’s wrong with the story, it will cost you later.

If it takes you two and a half hours to achieve the most from that sentence, it takes you two and a half hours.

First draft finished! I also have three possible titles for my werewolf story: Autumn, My Hero, or Hashtag Rewilding.
Which one is the most evocative?
The late William Trevor on short story writing: “I think it is the art of the glimpse. If the novel is like an intricate Renaissance painting, the short story is an impressionist painting. It should be an explosion of truth. Its strength lies in what it leaves out just as much as what it puts in, if not more. It is concerned with the total exclusion of meaninglessness. Life, on the other hand, is meaningless most of the time. The novel imitates life, where the short story is bony, and cannot wander. It is essential art.”
(source: The Guardian)

Two authors have made goosebumps rise on my flesh. The first was King, while reading the hobbling scene in his novel Misery. Now Bradbury, after finishing The Emissary, a beautiful short story in his collection, The October Country.
Is there any fiction that has moved you in a similar way?
Twisting your character’s arm is twisting your reader’s arm.
