It’s six o’clock in the little town of Layton, Utah. The sun has already set and the sky is covered with a seeming endless coat of dark clouds. On Main Street, at a small bus stop, sits a woman in a purple windbreaker. Her short, curly hair is newly dyed the blackish-red color of old blood. She is nearly fifty, bent forward, looking down at her off-brand sneakers, wrapping herself with her arms...
Yesterday I spent some time on the question of why we tell stories. I started by going over the functions of story outlined by professor Harvey. Today I wanted to break from her list and start listing some functions of story that I observe, note any overlaps, and examine these functions more closely. I would also like to try and identify which functions of story are most important for socially...
“Let’s start at the very beginning / A very good place to start” —Julie Andrews, The Sound of Music Today, as Julie Andrews suggests, I want to go back to the beginning and explore a basic question: Why do we tell stories? Not only in creative writing, but in daily life as well. A couple of years ago I listened to a lecture series by Professor Hannah B. Harvey, an Adjunct...
You are reading part IV of this periodical. Click here to read part III. That evening, as the other zombies harass a broken-down Ford Explorer full of an unfortunate group of survivors, and the chirping of crickets mingle with the moans of the dead, Fred and Tiffany stroll shoulder to shoulder down the street. Fred had thought for a long time how to say what he needed to say to Tiffany, but he is...
You are reading part III of this periodical. Click here to read part II. Fred blinks, trying to decide if he is seeing things. Is this really Tiffany here before him, sharing the flesh of the same corpse? Dare he believe his rotting eyes? But there she sits, and here he sits, and — what is he waiting for? “Tee-fee-nee…” Fred mumbles, hardly audible over the slopping of meat and the snorting...
You are reading part II of this periodical. Click here to read part I. Tiffany D. had been the lead check girl at the Ralph’s where Fred worked. She was an aster of optimism in a garden of disgruntled weeds, a girl who smiled for every customer, made small talk with the elderly, and always found time to chat with Fred at the end of a twelve-hour shift. Fred wanted to say so many things during...
Fred is a typical zombie. He enjoys shambling through the streets, staring blankly into the sun on hot days, chasing after stray dogs, and, naturally, feasting on the flesh of the living. Yes, Fred partakes in all the typical luxuries of the undead — thriving in some ways — in a once-heavily-populated-and-well-fed community. But Fred is not happy. In life, young Fred was a barely-eager bag-boy at...
Hello you. Here is a short story sketch I wrote about a Pygmalion-like character with some twists on the original myth. I hope you enjoy it. Giroff spread the crinkling blinds and peered down on a group of friends passing under his window. His eyes were bloodshot and the flesh around them was swollen and an ugly shade of purple. He stared at the young friends—not so young, maybe not even younger...
Here is my response to the writing prompt: write a fantasy story in 1,000 words or less. I had a lot of condensing to do after the first draft. It was a fun exercise in evoking a rich world with very little space to do it in. I hope you enjoy! The Legend of Giltiberim There was once a young gold miner who was so formidable that his king afforded him mail shirt and iron sword to wield in battle...
It was evening in the Mullingham household and Abraham and Moira Mullingham had just sat down to a dinner of hot spaghetti noodles drenched in a pungent tomato sauce, a dish Moira’s father had taught her to make in her youth, which she took great pride in serving. Abraham, a heavy-set, light skinned man who looked to be in his fifties, but had only reached his forty-fifth year, a man with green...
