Hello again everyone,
Here’s another example of fast fiction from my monthly writers group’s warming up exercises. For anyone interested in a full explanation, here’s a link.
A quick rundown of the rules:
Rule #1: These pieces of fast fiction were generated from a prompt chosen at random during one of my monthly writers group meetings. I will label that prompt at the top and where I use it in the prose.
Rule #2: WordPress allows me a ‘click here to read the rest of the story’ break, and that will be used before the fast fiction begins in earnest so people browsing through this blog are not overwhelmed.
Rule #3: The prose of the fast fiction shall be transcribed from my handwriting accurately: Line breaks, grammar, punctuation, spelling, what-have-you. The point of showing a 10- or 15-minute first draft is saying what you tried to do in that time, so what does editing really get me? The very rare changes I really do deem necessary shall be noted with an asterisk and an apologetic explanation at the end.
Rule #4: After the fast fiction I will include a few sentences about my first thoughts of the prompt. These entries are less about the actual prose and more about the exercise as a whole. Post-gaming that exercise will be a big part of the end result.
And that’s it. Here we go.
Prompt:
“You know it’s very sweet of you,” she said. “To come around like this, but I don’t think there’s much you can do just at the moment.”
The front yard was a jungle, categorically a jungle. Razor grass grew hip-high beneath a frenzy of palms, and wild flowers burst forth out of shaggy bushes seemingly at random. You could hardly see the front door from the street, which was an ongoing source of irritation to the neighbours. For far from equatorial Africa or a deserted island, this front lawn of ferocious vegetation dwelled in a quiet suburban cul de sac. The next most exotic front lawn in the neighbourhood boasted Kentucky blue grass and was mowed on the diagonal by a man who liked his yard just so.
Well, Sally Deadwood-Johnson liked her yard just so too. She liked it to suggest people might get lost if they came to her door without an invitation. She liked to give that impression because she believed in honest advertising: If someone invited themselves onto her front doorstep, she felt she was within her rights to decide if they lived or died.
That was how she was raised.
She was Episcopalian.
Also the daughter of a one-time warlord.
The fall of the British Empire had led to some… Colourful years. Her father did very well for a little while, and then escaped the rebels with enough to set up dear Sally with a quiet home in Suburbia before he continued on to exile in a country without extradition treaties.
The neighbours did not know that, of course. They just watched the landscapers plant a jungle, then they never saw the landscapers again.
One day, Frank Jackson decided he would volunteer to mow the strange woman’s lawn. He walked up the driveway –the only manageable way to the front door– and rapped with confidence on the front door clanger.
Sally opened the door slowly. “Hello?” She asked.
“Hello neighbour!” Frank enthused. “I’m Frank! I’m just across the road from you?” He gestured over his shoulder as if she might be able to see his house through the brush. “Anyhoo, my wife just bought me a new weedwhacker. I’ve been playing with it in my backyard, but there just isn’t enough to keep me busy over there. Would you mind if I put in some work over here for you?”
Sally, who was not entirely sure of her legal rights to murder a man on her doorstep, stalled for time.
“You know it’s very sweet of you,” she said. “To come around like this, but I don’t think there’s much you can do just at the moment.”
“Are you sure?” Said Frank. “I could work around the edges a little, maybe trim back some of the denser stuff in the middle?”
Sensing she was not going to talk him out of it, Sally said sweetly, “Would you like to come in? I’ll fix you up some… lemonade… And we can talk about this.”
Suspecting no malice, Frank gratefully accepted, stepping over the threshold. Frank was never seen again, but he did get to meet those landscapers, or what was left of them.
—
Note: Not my best work by any stretch, but I did have fun with it. I was particularly pleased with:
That was how she was raised.
She was Episcopalian.
Also the daughter of a one-time warlord.
The line breaks on that gave it a rhythm that did provoke a few snorts of amusement from my writers group, and when you can get someone to make some noise while you’re actually reading the peace, you know you did well.
Other things worth mentioning? This was during my ‘Frank’ period, where I kept naming my characters Frank off the cuff for some odd reason. It’s a little funny because I don’t think I know any Franks, and in this case there’s no reason to suspect Frank Jackson of being Catholic, which was the reason several other Franks ended up with that name.
Let’s see. What else is there to say? I liked giving Sally a fun first name and a somewhat menacing double-barreled last name. I feel like her moving into the neighbourhood has a not-so-friendly Addams Family vibe to it. I regret the line about her not being sure of her legal standing, as I’d already decided to make her a killer. The ending is a little weak, but did put a bow on things.
On the whole, a so-so entry from a not particularly exciting prompt.
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