Weekly Blog Posting
Weekly Blog Posting
‘First drafts are just nuts and bolts of the story plus notes to self/Richard Skinner. If a short story is a laboratory where you work to make a more extensive fiction, it started for me a few years ago. My few short stories were also published in journals, and my poetry books Lost Mother and Photonic Postcard were published in 2020 and 2021. I have used my short stories as nuts and bolts in my first draft. I completed about 73000 words, which would be about 80,000 words. I think by next month, it will be complete, and then I will send it to beta readers. I started to write it in April 2022. My favorite page count is about 250, and I have marked it as my debut fiction book. Big, epic books are not to my taste, and I read them in a leafy way.
‘At first taste the color, then recruit! Some women were subjugated willingly, and some were in dire need of a job; competition was cut-to-throat, in which the whites were winners.’ A pickle was added to the platter. A girl with a pinkish hue and milky complexion appeared; she had recently passed the nursing college and was appointed as the grade one nurse. The multiple eyebrows raised; such a smartness and modern outlook was a novel thing, almost like an alien, in a remote, rustic place. She could lure even the male ants with raised noses, and her pouting lip was in a symmetrical curve, one:one top to a bottom ratio. The silky hair with a brownish tinge, the way it fell on her shoulder and back, was enough to drive the autumn. And her voice came out in a wide-cum tilted way, a convent touch which tickled the rustic ears; they gaped at her and tumbled in a trance. The head and his coterie suffered, and cupid emerged in surg whenever she walked past them. A movie star-like item was in front of them. Have you seen bougainvillea among cacti? Bougainvilleas, the twining vine, is orphaned without tendril. They need training on a trellis over an arbor, fence, or structure. The coterie has strange notions, ‘she needs our support, they slobbered, they thought about her, slobbered in a long trail.’