I’m a judge in an international short story contest and I’ve got to tell you, folks, people very often forget that there are basic mechanical skills to the work of writing. If authors could at least figure out if they are writing in the past, the present or the future and decide if they will use a third-person omniscient narrator, a first-person narrator or indirect free style and just stick to it for the entire two pages of the short story, that would be sensational. Otherwise, I get to read things like,
I leave the house and go outside. It was a beautiful summer day. “Isn’t it a shame to waste such a day on going to work?” I wonder as I get into my car. Twenty minutes later I arrived at my office.
There are also way too many platitudes (“we will all die one day.” – You don’t say! Gosh I had no idea) and idiotic generalizations (“all disabled people suffer from feelings of inferiority.” – Take your projections to your psychiatrist, you condescending fool and leave me be.)
In general, I have to conclude that it would be much much better for people to read more and write less. Take a short story by a famous writer – I suggest Borges or Cortazar. Ray Bradbury would do, as well – and take it apart bit by bit. See what works and why, pay attention to every word.
You can’t produce anything before you learn the craft. And writing is craft. It’s work, just like any other.
Clarissa's Blog 
I suppose switching between viewpoints as a time traveling platitude bot or someone who literally has their theory of the mind and time sense break down would not make an interesting short story that’s two pages?
I leave the house and go outside.
It was a beautiful summer day. Wait, it was a dark and stormy night…But I just went outside now…I think.
“Isn’t it a shame to waste such a day on going to work?”, my neighbor says. Sunny, then. It must be sunny, since she’s not wearing her rain boots and her son isn’t jumping in puddles. I wonder as I get into my car why I’m so confused about the weather. Twenty minutes later I arrived at my office. I have no memory of how this happened because I never learned how to drive. I know instantly I’ll never do this again just like I’ll never remember to mail that thing— I mean, letter.
Nah.
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Good story. But that’s because you do all of this humorously. Earnestness is the problem of many a writer.
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One of the classes I teach is fiction writing. I would love a story like Shakti’s. BUT NO.
The problem we’re getting with (many) young writers today is that they’re not reading much (or anything). You have to read a lot to learn the conventions of writing — what a point of view is, how to manage point of view, how to write dialogue, why you don’t skip around in tenses.
These writers are writing fiction the same way they tell oral stories to their buddies. What works out loud doesn’t translate to the page.
Let me add, not all young writers. I’ve had several very promising young writers come through my program. All were fanatic readers, though.
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So true. I keep repeating that you can only become a writer after you have been a reader for many years. But it doesn’t always sink in.
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It’s simply too easy to start writing. We can all speak and type, and we all think we have stuff to say, and – voila! Everyone’s a (bad) writer.
No other form of art lends itself quite so easily to abuse. Most people recognize that they need both talent and technical skill (developed through targeted practice and expert instruction) to become a painter, a sculptor, or a musician.
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Absolutely! It doesn’t seem to occur to people that you need to learn how to be a writer just like you learn any other craft.
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Is this bad enough for the contest?
Vodka and moonlight
by Cliff Arroyo
Tatiana was nervous. Like all women she is very shy and withdrawn and like all immigrants to America, except for Mexicans, she wanted to fit in and become as American as possible but it’s very very hard. She came to the America of her dreams five years ago from Kiev in Russia.
She was at home cleaning her apartment paying special attention to the icons of Stalin in her shrine to communism. She wasn’t sure if she believed in communism but it was the religion she was born with and she wants to be a good daughter, just like any woman. Her parents went to communist church and insisted she did too. Occasionally she didn’t go. There was no way for them know since they were back in Kiev in the middle of Siberia.
She opened the fridge to calm her nerves as she took out and drank a half bottle of vodka.
“I better get ready for my big date!” she thinks and ran to the closet.
On the way she reflected on how funny life was. Just a few years ago she was digging up turnips on the collective in the frozen tundra and now she’s preparing for a date with the handsomest man she’d ever met.
She hadn’t always known how she felt about the stern Brand Masters the rich business executive who had been trying to date her for a few months. He was so taciturn and stern and would only agree to see her at night. She even thought it was funny that she’d only ever seen him at night but put that out of her mind absentmindedly thinking of his stern steel-grey eyes and and even sterner square chin.
Before she knew it he had arrived to pick her up so she quickly finished another bottle of vodka and answered the door and let Brand in, who seemed more serious and stern than ever!
“I’m a vampire!” he suddenly revealed. That was surprising, to say the least.
“But… but? I don’t understand” was all Tatiana could say. “Does that mean you want to drink my blood?”
“I’m sure your blood is the sweetest but I’m not that kind of vampire” he said. “The nourishment that keeps me alive is not blood but your smile. It’s the Jewish and other non-Christian vampires that drink the blood. But if you’ll join me we can live forever in luxury keeping each other alive through our love for each other.”
Before Tatiana could answer his voice turns stern.
“But there’s a condition!” he said sternly forcing her to silence.
“You must accept Jesus Christ as your personal savior! Christian vampires can live on love alone but you must want to become a Christian first!”
Tatiana was silent for a moment but then realized she was sure, surer of anything than she’d never been.
“Yes! I want to be a Christian vampire like you! Communism is a bad religion and Christianity is better!” she felt waves of joy flow through her body as she accepted Jesus as her personal savior and Brand turned her into a vampire. Then they flew off into the night sustained in the air by their miraculous love for Jesus and each other.
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I love it! You’d win the contest, hands down. The story is absolutely hilarious.
Hey, this gave me an idea. I’ll get students to write a mini-essay in groups using as many cliches as they can. Hopefully, after we all laugh at the texts together, it will sink in.
The story is really great, thank you.
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Five minutes later….
Tatiana screamed. “Why can’t I eat a POTATO!” Brand said, “Christ’s love is all the potato you need!” “Oh,” she mumbled, humbled. “Smile, love.” Brand’s face stretched into a rictus. “We have work to do.” Tatiana bared her new fangs. “A lot of work, ” he said, handing her a burqa. “But I thought we were Christian vampires!!” He lied to her!
“This way,” he said. They walked down to the basement and Brand flipped on a light. “What is this?” Brand looked at her. “My company owns every teeth whitening machine in the United States. Get in the chair. We don’t have much time and we have to do this every night.” “Every night?” “Yes, dear. Christian vampires can’t have yellow teeth. Your smile can’t sustain me if it’s mother of pearl. I already did myself. Put that on so you won’t die.” Tatiana howled in pain as the hydrogen peroxide burned her gums. Brand handed her a mirror. “Isn’t that wonderful!” “Uh huh,” Tatiana said, tasting the blood from her gums. “I’m still hungry,” she whined. “And hot.” Brand pointed at corners of his mouth. Tatiana smiled, nervously. “Here, drink this.” Tatiana caught a blood bag. “No, you can’t meet Jesus tonight,” he said, answering her unasked question. “I’m not taking you out until I’m sure you won’t berserk and I’m sure you aren’t a mess.” She paused in her slurping. “Zazdarovje!,”he said in perfect Russian, holding a water pik in the air. His accent changed.”We’re going to Dearborn.”He handed her a copy of ‘Islam for Dummies’. “We’re Muslim vampires tonight.”
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🙂 I think we are on our way to creating a collective bestseller. 🙂
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