Thoughts on Writing Your Own Short Story (The Short Story Sample)
Part of THE Manuscript
Some of The Choicest Tools in the Land
The (Long) Short Story
"Wish me luck!" Moog sarcastically mutters to herself as she irons her skirt with her left hand while she clutches her bag from the sofa using her right hand.
As mothers pack their children's lunch while preparing breakfast, Moog slowly wafts out of her house to where the taxi stand has been in the past three years."Nothing has changed," she says half-surprised, wishing that the world would end in this very day as she rides the taxi to where the money-machine is.
"Well, isn't it too early to have a bad day already?" the smiling driver asks her, not taking his eyes off the road. Moog turns her head to the left window pretending not to hear anything. "Cheer up, miss!" the driver tries again. "You know, I've seen you every morning here for three years now. And with that look, I could think you are a ghost or something."
Finally, she gives up. "It's just, tiring to do things that you always do. Wake up at six, go to work at eight, catch the nine train back home, and sleep at eleven," she bursts to the driver's consternation.
"Well, I guess you can't ride the train back home tonight," the driver replies suggestively, still trying to calm Moog's nerves down.
"And why is that not possible?" she demands, infidel to the proposition.
"Because train services are stopped due to a crack in its railway and it's a day's worth to fix it, they say. Haven't you heard?" the driver answers.
Not totally convinced with the driver's proposition and seeing that she is just one corner away from her work, she boards off the taxi, pays the smart driver and walks to work. "What a soothsayer!" she exclaims walking towards the next street where she works.
Just then, she notices that not too far in front of her, an old lady is looking at her. When Moog drew nearer, the old lady gently asks her, "Do you know where Pasay Boulevard is?" Then, she carefully flashes her teeth to a smile.
"Well, how have you gotten here, grandma?" Moog answers her with a question, more puzzled as to how the old lady smiles than to how she got here.
"My name is Agapay, and I wish to see my granddaughter here in the city," the old lady says.
Then Moog takes Agapay by the arm and gently guides her to the bus stop. "Well, grandma Agapay, you should never go by yourself when travelling next time. Let me take you to the bus stop."
Moog uncomfortably looks at her watch while waiting for a bus that will take Agapay to Pasay Boulevard. Ten minutes have passed when the right bus came. Moog is just five minutes away from being late.
"Thank you, Moog. You are such a good woman," Agapay thanks her, again flashing that smile.
Left alone and confused, Moog tries to remember if she has given her name to her yet. And that smile seems to remind her of something. Although at this time, she could not get hold of any memory trace. Remembering that she was late, she scurries off to her work only to be scolded by her boss. And because of her being late, she forces herself to go overtime until eight into the night.
Getting out of the building, she realizes that it was raining. "Well, come to think of it. This has been a very eventful day for me," she irately snarls while taking out her umbrella so she could call for a taxi. She clutches her papers under her left arm to protect them from getting wet. Just then a taxi comes to her direction. She waves her left hand high in the air. The taxi stops and takes her home.
Collapsed and exhausted, Moog lies down on the sofa, her skirt still wet from the short walk to her house. She opens the television just to fill the quiet air inside the house with something. "The scheduled train for 9 pm has been derailed due to an unreplaced, old broken part of its rail," chatters the anchorman. "I could have been on that train!" she gasps as she raises her head to look at the screen. Anxiety and confusion filling her mind, her hands and feet trembles. "...the maintenance service provider says that it will take about a day to be able to fix the broken rail and return the service..." the anchorman continues.
Then, Moog hears a knock on the door so she stumbles toward the door. "Package delivery for Ms. Moog!" the deliveryman hollers on the other side of the door. As the door swings open, a smiling delivery boy appears. "Package for Ms. Moog. Is she here?" the boy asks while he hands the small box.
"From whom could this have come from?" she asks herself while signing the paper the boy hands.
"You dropped it while you're in a hurry hailing taxis a while ago," the boy says.
She looks at what the package contains. Inside there are papers. These are papers she have clutched under her left arm. Her hair strands start to stand on their roots as she remembers everything. "Stupid me! But how come?," she blames herself like she always does while looking at the dry papers. Suddenly the phone rings. It was in the box. She gets the ringing phone and turns to look to the boy, but to her dismay the boy has gone. "He forgot his tip," she says while looking at the phone. It is her mom calling.
As she recounts with her mom what has happened that day, she sheds a tear while thinking that someone has been there saving her. She prays that these accidents never happen to her again. And she knows that from this point onward, she is a changed woman.
If you're expecting...
What to expect next from me:
So that's it for you. This is a short story I've spent writing for more than a day! Whew! I didn't expect for it to be this long but hey, am I too glad in finishing it. And of course, I did all of my pre-work rituals before working on this. But I am sorry to tell that the analysis for this short story will not be present in this work. The third article that I will be writing on this series is the analysis of the techniques on writing your own short story.
Don't worry! You haven't missed a thing. Go on, let's be different this time. Read the first article second.
- Thoughts on Writing Your Own Short Story(Non-technical Stuff)
These are highly-opinionated, purely practical techniques written by a newbie creative writer for beginning short story writers and curious novelists.
Can you reckon?
I live here. Can you see me on the map?
I want to live here! This seems to be a good place for writing. Wonder if I could secure an internet connection here.
A poll on whistling...
Do you know how to whistle?
Have I disappointed you?
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