#198: Can You Write a Story Right Now?
How long do you need to finish a story? A year? Three months? Two weeks? One day? It depends on how long it is, right? A book will take way longer than short fiction.
But what if length didn’t matter? You have to finish a story. It doesn’t matter how long. How much time do you need? Can you do it in an hour? What about 15 minutes?
When you do something for a long time, you develop a set of assumptions around the process. You get used to doing things in a certain way. Over time, these calcify into a set of personal rules that you’re unwilling to break. It happens to me all the time.
Write a story you say? I can certainly do that, but, I’ll need to think about it first. Then I’ll write an outline and start drafting. A few days later, I’ll come back and do a few rounds of edits. If everything goes well, there will be a story.
One of the most prevalent assumptions writers have is that creating stories is a lot of work and takes a long time. Often, that’s true. But does it always have to be the case?
Here’s a challenge. Can you finish a story right now? If you’re out of ideas, start with a prompt. If you don’t have much time, make the story as short as it needs to be to finish it in time (6-word stories count).
- It doesn’t have to have an arc, three acts or anything like that.
- It doesn’t have to be good.
- You don’t have to publish it.
- You don’t have to like it.
- It just has to exist.
All right. How did it go? Was it fun? Was it hard to do?
The real question is, could you do an exercise like this every day? How good a storyteller/writer would you be if you wrote 365 tiny stories like this every year?
The best way to improve as a writer is to write a lot of different stories. This is exactly how you do it. Sometimes they can be longer. Sometimes they’ll be short. What matters is that you’re exercising your creative muscles and putting words on the page.
Over time, you might find yourself returning to the same character over and over again. Or maybe you’ll combine a few stories into one, and an idea for a novel will be born.
And in case you’re curious, here’s my draft:
Morrison shifted uncomfortably in his recliner.
“Have you been drinking today, Mr Morrison?” his therapist asked.
The therapist stared at him the way she always did.
“Fine. I had one beer when I woke up.”
The therapist raised her eyebrow. “One? When you woke up?”
“I don’t have to tell you.”
“You’re right. You don’t,” she said. “I booked you for a mandatory screening on 34th Street at 1 PM. Your probation officer has been notified.”
Now, it was Morrison’s turn to be quiet.
“Tell me, Mr Morrison, why today?”
He knew she wasn’t real — just an avatar with an AI pulling the strings — but he still hated her.
“After 822 days,” she said. “your probation was due to expire next week.”
Morrison clenched his fists. “Let me out of here. Now.”
“It’s an emergency! Let me out.”
Her image disappeared, replaced by the blue glow inside the mental health pod he was lying in as it executed the emergency evacuation procedure. The cover unlocked, then opened. Outside, four others queued for their turn.
Morrison stumbled out into the rain, his ankle monitor buzzing. He had no idea where he would go, but it sure wasn’t going to be the 34th.
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