People advise aspiring novelists to keep writing; write as much as you can without pausing, without second-guessing and agonising over it. That’s all well and good if you can get into that particular mindset. I, personally, have a difficult time. If I write a paragraph I go back over it several times – I edit it, edit-edit-edit. I get stuck. The lack of progression is unproductive and uninspiring, so I want to start doing something that might help. This type of exercise most definitely already exists, I’m sure, but I’m just going to do it my way.
Yikes. Please don’t expect this to be any good.
The sound of the car door thudding shut interrupted the re-dawn quiet. Helen wrapped her arms around herself, her breath misting before her face. She couldn’t help but look across the street, into the black shroud of trees beyond.
Would it be there, again?
She couldn’t see anything at first, but a shape took form as her eyes adjusted to the dark. It was small, canine-like, and as still as a statue.
Wish they’d stop feeding them, Helen thought as she made her way toward her front door, all the while directing her ire at her neighbours.
With the key inserted in the lock, she glanced back. The shape wasn’t in the trees any longer. It was now beside her car, just outside the gate of her small garden.
Its body was void of fur, a gaping hole where its snout should have been.
It stared at her with dead eyes.
I had to rush at the end, as I was running out of time! Talk about a challenge, but I think I could benefit from this. I need to learn to let myself go, and just let the words come.
If you’ve made it this far, would you be interested in seeing more posts just like this one?