To write a story first decide what color the cover will be, how many pages, then write an outline of chapters.
Next comes margin and font. This is how all books are produced. Pick a length for the chapters, and you are almost done.
The first sentence has to convey the whole story, and the first paragraph the total range of the story. Then comes three paragraphs covering the story, followed by one that sums up the entire content.
The Army method shortens this. It starts with, This is what I am going to tell you, proceeds to telling, then tells what you have just been told.
This method is taught by people who lack an unconscious mind.
My method is to type a mix of vowels and consonants and look for any words formed. Taking those words I write a short scene, where they are used.
Dynamic action gains points, so my words have action added.
Stories flow in both directions. Whatever the action the subject was doing something else shortly before. Two subjects both have backstories, where stick figure John develops Character, as does stick figure Jane. Here we learn if the meeting was intended, by one or both, and what goals they might have in mind.
It is something like chalking a pentagram on the floor of a deep cellar in a long unused house, placing a candle at each point, and casting dice into the center. All is safely enclosed by a thumb wide circle of unbroken chalk, as I wait and see what comes from the darkness beyond.
Jane comes out of the darkness in the corner, in to the candle light, her pale skin glows in the almost darkness. She has a look on her face that is less sure and confident than she had in the daylight in the garden, when she scoffed at their being anything beyond what she had seen or been taught. A glance sends her a step back, but she is drawn as a moth to a flame. I said she could watch, in silence, from a distance. No words, you may leave, but do not disturb me, and she agreed and now my eyes locked on hers she remembered. Slowly she backed away, as if she was going uphill, while being drawn downward. My eyes pushed her back, cast her to the edge of the light, and the look on her face was nothing like the proud and fearless girl in the afternoon sunlight.
Jane felt a cold passing through her, the light of five candles felt warm across the room and she was drawn to see what she did not understand. White chalk lines she had watched being drawn now seemed something solid, something rising from the floor, and pulsing in the candle light. She had stood in the corner, in silence, as the floor was cleaned, the pentagram drawn, the candles lit, and a circle drawn around it. Now she stood above the circle and the closer she came the more she was drawn. It was not by her will that she walked toward it, she had sworn she would remain in the corner, yet here she stood, almost reaching the circle before his eyes locked on hers, and pushed her back. He was not looking her in the eye, he was looking through her eyes and deeper in, she could feel him, hear him, and he controlled her body now moving back. She did not agree, or obey, she submitted.
With one hand he picked up the dice, with the other he made a circle at the center with a handful of rice. Another cast of the dice bounced into the rice circle, and came up twelve. A small pile of rice was added to each point of the pentagram, and again he turned his eyes to Jane, standing, eyes open, but as if asleep. She gently rocked forward and back, like she was floating on some unseen ocean.
His eyes again entered hers, she could feel him inside her head, he was there with her, she need not fear, and slowly his eyes moved downward, and she could feel them going through her body, he touched her heart, it was pounding, and her lungs that drew short and rapid breaths. A calm spread through her, her heart slowed, her breath came long and easy, she was at peace. His gauze rose to her neck, and the tensions of a lifetime let go and floated away. She was beyond words, but fully feeling, as an invisible burden was lifted from her.
One by one he put out the candles, as the light faded Jane felt herself get smaller, till she was tiny and standing in darkness. She could not see or hear him, but she felt it when he looked at her. She felt it as he moved around the side of her, then behind her, looking through the back of her head and out her eyes. He was in her thoughts, her most secret places, and it felt good to not be alone. Before her in the blackness the pentagram in the circle glowed, she could see the grains of rice and the dice reading twelve. Her hands rose and spread out, and reaching from behind her she felt the warmth of his hands below hers, and put her hands in his. Together in the dark they walked to the steps and up and out of the basement, through the garden in starlight, to the back door of her house, where he opened the door and told her to go to her room.
Jane awoke at dawn, she was happy, she thought she remembered something, the more she thought of it the less sense it made. There was no cellar near her garden, she would not go in one in the dark with a strange man, yet it seemed so real. She could not remember who he was, but she could remember sharing her mind, body, eyes, with him. She was not the kind of girl that even spoke with strange men. She pondered, and did remember seeing a man walking down the road, that looked like him.
A week later Jane went to visit her aunt five miles away, she had almost forgotten what she called her dream. Walking to the village to do some shopping, she saw the ruins of an old house, and was drawn to it. There were stairs going down to a cellar, and curiosity overcame common sense. There was trash on the stairs, the cellar door hung by one hinge, and peaking in Jane saw the floor was covered in trash, except for one place in the center, and she had to look closer. It had been erased, but the chalk still showed, the candle wax, and there were grains of rice.
Jane hurried on to get her shopping done. She did not know what to think. She had come to take care of her aunt, so going to the market she gathered most things, then needed some rice. They had several kinds, and as she pondered a familiar voice said, this is the best for you, and made a circle on the counter in rice, and placed the price, 12 cents a pound in the center. Jane could not move, he scooped two pounds into a bag, she gave him a quarter, he gave her a penny.
You are new he said, and Jane told of staying with her aunt. He thought he knew the place, just past that old ruined house? He spoke but did not make eye contact, Jane had finished her shopping but did not leave, as he closed up shop and walked her out the door and down the road. He took her shopping basket and walked her to the back door of her aunt's house. He gave her her basket, opened the door for her, and she looked at his face. He made eye contact, she knew it was him. It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Jane, and I hope your aunt is feeling better. He spoke loud enough for the open upstairs window to hear, while his eyes reached through Jane's and filled her head.
Jane was cooking rice and trying to think. She made a lot of rice so she could make rice pudding. She wanted to buy more rice. Her aunt asked if that was the grocer she heard, and when Jane said yes, said a nice man, with a business and no wife, guess he has not found the girl he wants.
As Jane cleaned up she thought about it. She belonged to a man she met today and bought rice from, and that was as it should be.
13 Sep 2015, 9:13 am
