How tea and shivers make short stories

As the number of Short Story Club members approaches its first milestone of one hundred fantastic, intelligent and extraordinarily good-looking people, I thought I’d explain how I write the short stories you all inspire. I did wonder if that might be boring, but several people I respect on Twitter said they’d love to hear about my writing process, and a long while ago the lovely Sam said he’d like to find out more about how I write, so here goes.

Let’s assume it’s a short story club story; i.e. written after being inspired by an idea posted on the blog or emailed to me. I read each suggestion as they appear, and I always have an immediate gut reaction to the ones that make me want to write.

It’s quite a physical reaction actually. First the hairs on the back of my neck and on my arms stand on end. Then I have a little shiver that goes all over me, followed closely by an excited flutter in my stomach. When I read an idea I love, the next stage is intellectual, and always of the same nature: it makes me ask a question.

Without that question, there is no story.

The question is, nine times out of ten, why? Here are some of the ones that have created previous club stories:

Why does she have a small claw hammer and seven galvanised box nails wrapped in a handkerchief? What will she do with them?

Why isn’t she getting wet, even though it’s raining?

Why is Abby still painting away furiously five minutes after the end of the nursery? What is she painting? Why hasn’t she gone home yet?

What could be made by a recipe that specifies 67 minutes exactly?

You get the idea. I’d estimate that about a third to a half of the suggestions I receive trigger both of those reactions. So I shortlist them as they arrive, and wait until the flurry stops.

Incidentally, I find that opening lines, or a one sentence idea works the best as a trigger. A few times I have received quite lengthy suggestions, detailing plot hook and the possible resolution of the hook, or the arc of the story. This turns me off immediately – not because I don’t like the idea, but because the thrill of discovery has gone. It’s not my story and never can be; it’s one that the sender should be writing, not me.

Another thing I find strange is that even though I am visually oriented, and watch my stories and novels like films in my head that I write down, pictures don’t inspire stories. I’ve tried that several times, but no. <shrug>

So, next up is the selection process. I read my shortlist through several times and whittle it down, some ideas losing their glow over time or when compared to ideas that came in later. Then I leave it for a day or two, and see which one haunts me, which one is there as I’m pottering about, or eating, or as I’m drifting to sleep. If that ‘why’ question is niggling me more and more as the days go by, then I know that’s the one.

Often I agonise over a choice, and have a file on my computer with triggers I loved but didn’t make the final cut. They will all be stories one day. I also store the details of the person who sent them so I can be sure to credit them.

Once the decision has been made, I focus on that alone and think about it for a week or so. I take the odd walk, I daydream, I think about it when I probably should be thinking about something else. This part of the process contains a mix of creativity and logic. I’ll explain…

I ask the ‘why’ question that the trigger has created. Then I examine what springs to mind. Then I reject those ideas.

Why? Because if they are the first to come to my mind, they are likely to be clichéd, done before (and subsequently forgotten) or simply not quirky enough. This elimination process forces me to be more creative, almost like the creative factory has to produce an outstanding product to get my writer brain interested.

This can be a tricky process. I usually come up with a loose idea, or answer to that question in a few days, then I discuss it with my husband. I find having a sounding board so useful, and bless his heart, he doesn’t mind. Just like a reading a manuscript aloud can reveal awful clangers, discussing an idea can do the same. Sometimes he helps me out of a corner I’ve thought myself into, sometimes he says very little at all. It’s the talking that counts.

I know when I have the right idea and plot when I can see the shape of it in my head and then feel a very intense fear. Not caused by the creepy story. No, this fear is my inner critic stirring from her slumber. I conceive of the idea and have a little panic that the story I write will not live up to its potential. When the idea is there, pristine and unsullied by my clumsy prose, there is a terror of destroying it.

That’s the best time to write, and if I can flee to my computer and write fast before the dreaded Censor clutches my throat, a story can appear in about two hours. If I am in the middle of a supermarket (rare, admittedly, but it has happened) or similarly distant from a writing space, that fear can prevent me starting for a few days.

But that’s the beauty of the short story club: I have to write it, and within a deadline. The thought of the club members waiting to read it (not that I believe they sit their drumming their fingers!) or at least expecting it, is enough to push me past that annoying fear stage and start writing.

I have a little ritual before I start my short stories. I make a cup of tea (obviously), sit down at the computer and read the trigger. Then I say – out loud in as clear and brave a voice as possible – “I give myself permission to write complete and utter crap.” Then I write. For the first two, three, sometimes four paragraphs I might be a bit slow, pausing over words that don’t flow, just because I am still wrestling with the Censor. By paragraph five I’ve won and told her to simply bugger off and do something else whilst I write. Maybe it takes five paragraphs for my permission slip to arrive, I don’t know. Sometimes I have to negotiate with her. I’ve found myself thinking “Look you acerbic little tart, you shut up and let me write crap, then you’ve got lots of words to play with afterwards, ok?” Did I mention that I’m mad?

Ray Bradbury, who I adore deeply, once said “I have always written at the top of my lungs.” Isn’t that wonderful? That’s what I try to do; I write fast and get out of the story’s way as best I can. I see the characters, I hear their voices. I have no idea where they come from; they simply show up once the idea is there. Sometimes I get to know them as I write, sometimes I know them in the opening line, sometimes I only know how awful and truly evil they are until the final paragraph. That, I simply cannot explain.

When I write with permission to do so poorly, I produce my best writing. Ironic? No. Writing that has permission to be rubbish flows out of me without all of my petty worries diverting its course. Once the first draft is finished, I read it through once and make corrections. Then I read it out loud, usually to my husband. I once said to a friend that this is like running fingertips over a woodworking project, it enables you to feel the bits of the prose that are bumpy and need more polishing. This is critical for dialogue; it’s amazing how it can look plausible to the eye, but when on the tongue it just sounds absurd.

Then I leave the story for as long as I can before a final edit. A week is ideal, if time allows. I know it’s finished when I read from start to finish, then feel that shiver I mentioned right at the start. If there’s no shiver, it’s not the right end point. I wonder who makes those shivers? They’re very useful.

Once the prose is tidied, the dialogue sanded down and the shiver firmly in place, I send it to the winner of the club who inspired that story, and wait until they have read it first. Once I know they have, I send it out to all members, then I have an extraordinarily large cup of tea.

So there you have it; how I write short stories. This is completely different to the way I write novels, but that’s another post altogether, and one I am less certain of anyway!

Can I make the call for January’s ideas now please? Opening lines, triggers, weird situations, you know the drill. Anyone can suggest but only members get to read the story, so if you’re not in it yet, and want to be, you can sign up right here.

Let’s do it!

Tagged as: short stories, short story club, writing process