Thursday, March 16, 2006
A Contest To Determine Where My Short Story Is Going
I Announce A Contest:
If there are any readers of this little blog, and of http://fredwemyss.livejournal.com, they are hereby invited to read the item below, which is the beginning of a story I'm writing, and to put their interpretations in the comment field. On top of this, they can tell me where they THINK it's leading.
Contestants are encouraged to be individualistic. These questions, which may be disregarded with no pain to myself, may be helpful in formulating answers:
Who is who in the story?
Is it confusing?
If so, does the author seem to be TRYING to confuse the reader?
Or, conversely, does the author seem to be confused himself? That is, is it true that he has nothing up his sleeve?
Winners will see that I avoid their ideas completely, so as not to plagiarize. They also win my thanks!
Please bear in mind that I can't indent on either blog. New paragraphs will be preceded by a space. A new section will be represented by two spaces.
Here's the beginning of the story:
Big Tragedy
by
Frederick Wemyss
The world, as seen through teardrops, begins to resemble an impressionist painting. The yellow, green and brown of a park become the trembling, final vision of a dying artist. There he is, prone, the brush rolling away from his hand, his easel falling forward. His painting is part of the garden now.
"Oh, that nut job?," said Bendenberg. "When?"
"Sunday," said the woman at the other end.
"What of?" Bendenberg asked.
"Well, natural causes I guess. They found him on the ground."
"Where?"
"Kretzer Park."
"Was this nighttime?"
"No, this was about three in the afternoon."
"They just found him?"
"Isn't that weird?"
"There are so many people there on a Sunday."
"I know."
"Well," said Bendenberg. "Thanks for letting me know."
"You're welcome."
"Did he have any family?"
"We all do."
"That means no."
"Bye, Tom."
"Bye, Myrtle."
Bendenberg pressed the "End" button and snapped the little cell phone shut. He opened his office door and lifted the lid of the metal box with the number 27 on it. He saw an envelope with the Bigco logo, a postcard from the dentist depicting a giant, smiling molar, a letter from a credit card company he didn't use and a flyer from the Kretzer Park Museum. He went back inside and read the flyer. There was a number on it.
He snapped the cell phone open again.
If there are any readers of this little blog, and of http://fredwemyss.livejournal.com, they are hereby invited to read the item below, which is the beginning of a story I'm writing, and to put their interpretations in the comment field. On top of this, they can tell me where they THINK it's leading.
Contestants are encouraged to be individualistic. These questions, which may be disregarded with no pain to myself, may be helpful in formulating answers:
Who is who in the story?
Is it confusing?
If so, does the author seem to be TRYING to confuse the reader?
Or, conversely, does the author seem to be confused himself? That is, is it true that he has nothing up his sleeve?
Winners will see that I avoid their ideas completely, so as not to plagiarize. They also win my thanks!
Please bear in mind that I can't indent on either blog. New paragraphs will be preceded by a space. A new section will be represented by two spaces.
Here's the beginning of the story:
Big Tragedy
by
Frederick Wemyss
The world, as seen through teardrops, begins to resemble an impressionist painting. The yellow, green and brown of a park become the trembling, final vision of a dying artist. There he is, prone, the brush rolling away from his hand, his easel falling forward. His painting is part of the garden now.
"Oh, that nut job?," said Bendenberg. "When?"
"Sunday," said the woman at the other end.
"What of?" Bendenberg asked.
"Well, natural causes I guess. They found him on the ground."
"Where?"
"Kretzer Park."
"Was this nighttime?"
"No, this was about three in the afternoon."
"They just found him?"
"Isn't that weird?"
"There are so many people there on a Sunday."
"I know."
"Well," said Bendenberg. "Thanks for letting me know."
"You're welcome."
"Did he have any family?"
"We all do."
"That means no."
"Bye, Tom."
"Bye, Myrtle."
Bendenberg pressed the "End" button and snapped the little cell phone shut. He opened his office door and lifted the lid of the metal box with the number 27 on it. He saw an envelope with the Bigco logo, a postcard from the dentist depicting a giant, smiling molar, a letter from a credit card company he didn't use and a flyer from the Kretzer Park Museum. He went back inside and read the flyer. There was a number on it.
He snapped the cell phone open again.
# posted by Fredwemyss @ 2:59 PM 
