Last week, our authors posted their unedited first drafts, letting the story ideas flow uninhibited. Not surprisingly, many found this step challenging. Some were so used to backtracking and revising on the fly that letting the words just be was almost as anxiety inducing as staring at a blank page. Others adopted never-before-seen outline/scene hybrid tactics to help organize their ideas. No matter the approach, the goal of Writer In Motion is to show an author’s creative process from start to finish, and capturing the thoughts leading to that first draft is important for the story’s evolution.
This week, the authors took those raw words on a refining journey, each employing their unique developmental skills and editing prowess to polish their rocks into gems. Some revision journeys even came complete with outlines, inline self-commentary, and detailed tracked changes.
Read on to find out how these talented authors improved their drafts from rough to revised, producing second drafts to be sent to their critique partners (CPs) for feedback. Based on each other’s comments, the authors will then go through another round of revision and post their results for your viewing pleasure.
Remember, it takes courage to be transparent about what happens behind the writing curtain, so please join us in encouraging the authors by leaving comments on their blogs and tweeting about their stories using #WriterInMotion. Then tune in next week for the next leg of our short story journey!
We Who Paint The Trees
Léon Othenin-Girard
We who paint the trees, the leaves, the single hairs on spider legs, are often better off alone. Single-mindedly, we trail our brushes along the sunlight streams to fill the world with light. You cannot see us, and we resign our lives to the smaller loves; Read more…
Rescue me from the mire, do not let me drown
Sifa Poulton
You approach the cabin with the setting sun. It’s always setting on arrival; a place frozen in time, needing witnesses to fall back into the march of hours, days, seasons. Thighs cramping from the long climb, you pause. Sun on your back, air chill with approaching night, shadow lengthening before you, darkening the gorse.
Read more…
The Magic Jar
Kay S. Beckett
“We’re lost, aren’t we? Maybe I should Google directions…”
“Relax Ray. I’ve rode with my parents a million times, I know where we’re going.”
“But Luce–”
“But Ray! Trust me, I’ve got this.”
Ethereal Child
Antoinette Van Sluytman
There was something timeless about this place. An elysian stroke of twilight upon a canvas, abandoned by an ancient civilization that had become muddled, its violent directions streaking like beautiful disorder across a world living in constant dichotomy of time and existence. Change and consistency. A coexistence.
Pros and Cons
Amber Roberts
I refused to make another pro/con list. If I made a list, it meant he was at least partially right. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction. It was supposed to be an easy job. Get in, get the goods, deliver, done. One final gig: The last hurrah before my retirement, a job to get The Life out of my system…
A Daughter’s Affection
Elizabeth Grant
The fall breeze caught my hat and tried to fetch it from my head. I plopped my hand atop it and continued onward, trying to ignore the dead, dry grass turning to dust beneath my steps. The filth caught the wind and fluttered away, dead and worthless.
The Birthday Wish
Jen Davenport
The sun dipped beneath the horizon in front of me, turning the sky into the perfect palette of pinks and purples. New painting ideas filled my thoughts. I couldn’t wait to get to my hotel room so I could break out one of the canvases I’d brought.
Shining Palais on a Hill
Maya Darjani
Four months after the attack, parts of the Ivory Palais still smoldered blue. Sarai passed the checkpoints, one, two, three. Past the secretary, past security standing tall, she traversed the threshold into the stately office of the leader of the world. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
The Bride
Vicky Walklate
Crouched atop the ugly mountainside building, Malthas stretched his leathery wings and studied his new bride. She stood immobile in the clearing, an alpine breeze billowing her clothes and hair. Crickets chirped in the grass, bats darted overhead and the tattoo on her wrist, his spiral emblem, whispered insistently.
Backtracking
Erika F Rose
As Cambriea walked through the woods, she searched the ground and bushes for plants to forage. Berries were abundant, along with hazelnuts and mushrooms. What she wasn’t seeing was animal tracks. She needed to hunt, but the forest was still today.
Berekvam
Natasha Watts
“Come on, Shelby. You’re bumming me out.” Dylan’s plea wheedles its way into my skull like a worm taking to soil. I shudder and look up. He’s across from me at the table, countryside flying by out the window of our Flåmsbana train car.
The Bear’s Breeches Smell Slightly Sweet As They Rot
Maria L. Berg
I never saw a man’s face change so fast. He stepped through the door, blocking our view, still laughing with his son. Then he saw me. “You,” he said, then door. “Who is it, Daddy?” from inside. “That rude trespasser from the other day.” Josette scowled up at me. “Rude trespasser?”
Smoke and Fog
Fariha Khayyam
The monotonous lull of the rain drops thundering atop my roof and the earthy scent wrapped me in a warm blanket of memories. Memories were painful now that I was far, far away from the ones who jumped in the puddles with me and the ones who dried my hair after I’d become fully drenched.
Never Look Back
Layton R. Turner
Bodee hiked up the mountainside with one arm around me, the weeds slapping against his bare knees. Even after the three-mile uphill trek, I’d be willing to bet his buns didn’t even burn. Stupid personal trainer glutes. “I’m sorry I haven’t called you lately,” he said.
The Right Wrong Path
Nicole Vane
It was supposed to be an hour-long hike—keyword supposed to. Somehow, and Quinn had no idea how she had managed to not only stray off the well-marked path but had also managed to climb a completely non-beginner friendly hill. Or at least that was what her quads were screaming.
Putting the Tertiaries to Rest
Izzy Varju
Jesse appears, screaming.
Her hands are knotted in her hair, frantically grasping at her head as if to keep it on her shoulders, and you don’t remember it being that red. It might have been the blood matting it, but upon closer inspection you decide it’s just auburn. The color settles.
“Am I dead?” Jesse asks, patting her hands along her face before looking up at you. “Who are you?”