An Experiment
With so much going on, find my own writing time is tricky right now. Some of it I can cull from my workshop time, since I have to have material to submit periodically. That’s not the same, though, as sitting down and working on my own stories for their own sakes. I guess it’s just one more juggling ball to keep in the air. Who knows? It may make me more efficient.
Anyway, having less time for my own writing has also given me a new appreciation of short short stories, also called flash fiction. Though I may not have as much time to spend on my novel-in-process or some of my short story ideas, I can usually find time to play with a smaller idea.
Sometimes these ideas are the stories themselves, but other times they are games with the craft of writing. Here’s an example: I looked around online to find out more about the 369, a short short story form invented by my craft instructor, Bruce Holland Rogers. The idea is to write three, related sixty-nine-word short pieces, tied together by individual titles and an overall title. Once I understood how it works, I wanted to play with it. The trick in writing something that short is making every word do double or triple duty to pack in as much expression as possible.
First a bit of background about the subject, then the experiment itself: twice each year my wife and I spend three-day weekends at local RPG conventions, DunDraCon and Pacificon (or whatever the latter is calling itself these days). At these conventions we mostly play Live Action Roleplaying Games (LARPs). Once upon I time I played exclusively tabletop RPGs, but over the last few years I’ve found the average level of roleplaying, and my enjoyment of the games, significantly higher at the LARPs.
Some of the friends we’ve developed in the LARP community we only see at these conventions, and several of them are good enough to put in the time and effort into creating the games we play. I wrote this for them.
Twice a Year
by Stefon Mears
Writer’s Block
The blank page loomed before him, taunting him with its concealed glories: characters, plots, sub-plots. Among the treats lay a story he would stage and others would enact. A sip of sweet nectar and the ideas began to coalesce, dancing somewhere between the stories he had designed and those he would someday concoct. Amigos would revise his work, scouring the details, but first he must defeat the blank page.
The Loophole
Plots, plans and sticking points had been checked and re-checked. He and his amigos had prepared well, and he faced the room full of friends ready for any eventuality. Well, almost.
“She did what?”
His amigo shrugged, handed him a beer, and told him again. He took a long drink of Bonita’s Finest and shook his head. “You know what? Fuck it. It’s a creative solution. Let her roll.”
Tuesday Morning
Paperwork menaced from his desk. Messages pressured for replies. Meetings stalked his precious time, intending to devour it whole. Bureaucracy surrounded him, threatening to murder his spirit and leave him a corporate shell. He raised a shield formed of the weekend’s memories: games, friends, stories and good times. He drew forth the sword of his anticipation; another such gathering glistened on the horizon. He smiled and his enemies trembled.
