In my opinion an artist should attempt to reflect their own life, feelings, experiences and emotions and the way they tie in with current society. Sometimes to evoke change, sometimes to highlight differences, always to tell a story.
I’m sorry that I haven’t posted too much but you all know that the first instalment won’t be the last..I’m working on it :D Can’t wait to share with you.
Don’t let me be misunderstood – Nina Simone
I started a short story this week – Lei e Taormina be sure to check it out. If you are unsure about starting a short story or where to begin see the post I wrote a few weeks back Start a Short Story. If you have any questions feel free to ask me or reach me on email.
Also If any of you are trying to learn code or move onto self-hosting codeacademy.com is really helpful. It will simplify html and css for you by giving examples and exercises to work through. You don’t have to complete them all, you can just skip to the section you want to learn if you’re pushed for time but its good to get the basics. If anyone has any other suggestions please share. I went into full geek mode and did the first seven hour lesson pretty much straight but it’s satisfying when you get something and it makes sense. Good luck :D
Abia stared at herself in the reflection of the blurry River Roja. When the wind was high its jade green waters gushed fast and wild like her imagination. When the gales settled, so it did, reduced to silent ripples.
She had never thought of herself to be womanly. She gazed at her slender frame, with no noticeable hips and wondered if she would ever look the way her mother did. Rose was comfortingly shapely with porcelain skin and cheeks that ran her namesake plushy pink when she sat out in the sun. She often caught the eyes of the townsfolk, her own a rarity gift, two azure stones that imitated the ocean. She was a breath of fresh air, naturally beautiful.
Abia crouched on the riverbank, brought her knees up to her chest and clutched her elbows. Bony and cold. She was a lot darker than her mother, with thick hair and sunken eyes that were almost black. As a child her frame was her advantage. It was easier to run and climb trees, she was quick and agile and could keep up with the boys in her village. Although she tried to fight the feeling, now as a young woman, she felt inadequate, incomplete.
Arriving to Merolas she had had her fair share of attention from the local niños (boys), especially the ones in Rainbow. When they climbed trees to pick ripen nectarines, (no longer a race, she could still beat them to the top) she would glance down and catch them staring up her skirt. She noticed they hurled remarks at anyone and everyone. Old escorias (prostitutes), even mother’s with children. Sometimes she saw them flicking through Mr Avedias magazines, sniggering in suggestive slang.
She peered again at her reflection, held in the river. A leaf fell silently off an oak above it’s landing sending ripples through the liquid turquoise. Her thoughts glided to Tariq. When he looked at her, she wondered what he saw.
© elenaxtina.com, 2015 in Skies over A Shanty Town
His bedroom sat five shelters high above Rainbow. A window to the world. He would shove his arms through the slated wood and light a cigarette (Mr Avedias finest). Sunrise reminded him of Abia. Calming, sensually sweet but by nature naive, always posing questions and always desiring answers.
Tariq had lived life long enough to know that not all questions were answered. Why was pana with seeds and nutmeg cheaper than plain bread? How did they fit those tiny boats in tiny bottles? Why is it that we hurt most those we love?
Before bright light awoke the world Tariq would feel most settled. A population silenced in slumber, this was his dreaming hour. His thoughts free to run and all possibilities unrestrained. The golden hues quietened his internal quarrels, blinded his pride and flooded his ego. Only the days tasks lay before him, which he had learned to be a lot easier for a man lightened of such terminal traits.
This morning, the sky rose in blackened tones and reality dawned upon Tariq. His eyes dipped into a murky pit of purple his thoughts would not settle, and he found no ease. He had known this day would come, when explanation would surpass him and instead, the complexity of change would attain a voice all of it’s own. His own held at ransom.
Deep in his chest he could feel it, rising and falling with urge to burst out and duty to stay hidden. A secret he had kept, a truth he had buried.
© elenaxtina.com, 2015 in Skies over A Shanty Town
Skies Over A Shanty Town
This thread turned into something more than I ever thought it could be. I ran with it and have enjoyed writing each instalment. I would encourage anybody who feels like they need an audience or just practice in their writing to start a short story and see where it leads. It’s a great way to grow your ideas and materialise your potential. Have fun with it and let your creative currents flow.
By starting a short story you will:
Learn your calling
“The things you are passionate about are not random, they are your calling.” – Fabienne Fredrickson. You will suss these out along the way. Character traits, places, names, anything and everything. When you write freely, you will usually write what you care the most about. This is essential to know, if you want to write with purpose.
Identify your audience
You will start to identify your target market, or typical audience. You won’t get as many readers for short stories compared to poetry (if like me you started off publicly this way) by nature it is time consuming, but you will gain loyal ones. People that know and understand you, and your characters. Once they have invested in a story, they will want to know what happens next, they will want to support you. This also allows you to respond to their needs as a reader. From their responses get an idea of what makes them tick, the ways you make them feel what you want them to feel. With the words that you use and the way that you use them. Learn them how you would a best friend, or a partner so you can satisfy them.
Grow your style
Experiment with words, experiment with people and places but maintain your style. Each writer has one. Keep your personality and voice and let that be your constant. If you don’t know yours, try to identify it through your story. Once you have, be comfortable with yours. You can’t be everything to everyone, so develop your voice to the best of your ability and your story will do the rest for you :D