|Roses - Maria A Smith|
Prose fiction is what I do, its when I leave reality and enter a fictional world within my imagination. I tell stories by writing words down for my readers.
A few months ago, I attended a workshop with a specific goal to write for the women's magazine market, its something I don't usually do, and the style of writing is very different from my own. I found it a challenge to keep within the perimeters of what is, and isn't acceptable. Those who know my writing, will be smiling to themselves as they read on. Usually, I've killed someone, or something unpleasant has happened on the first page.
Our brief, was to write the beginning of a romantic story, very much outside of my comfort zone. I had to introduce both my characters quickly, and leave the reader in no doubt as to what the story genre was, and what could be expected, I also needed a hook, to keep them wanting to read more.
An interesting exercise, writing outside of your usual genre, or comfort zone is a good thing to do. Trust me, even if you think it isn't it is! So if you usually write romance, why not try fantasy, or crime, or if like me, your more at home with grizzly goings on, how about comedy, or a western? You never know, you might find you have a flair for science fiction, or historical romance.
Here is my attempt at a story start, from the workshop...
TURNING THE CORNER
Beads of sweat lined Tom’s brow. The mountain guide company had called twenty minutes ago, they were substituting his walking guide Roger, for Laura, and she'd be arriving shortly.
He'd specifically asked for Roger, explaining his reasons when he’d plucked up the courage to book the trip. The last thing he wanted was to go up into the mountains with a woman!
He’d cancel, until Roger recovered, he was here for week after all, reaching for his phone he punched in numbers, when he heard a knock at the door. Yanking it open a little too quickly, he stared at the fresh faced young woman in a bright red jacket standing before him.
‘Hi Tom, I’m Laura, are you all set?’ He hesitated, as she thrust her hand forward.
‘Yes,’ he lied, wondering if she'd been told about the accident, did she know he was an amputee? He shook her hand, then hauled the small rucksack onto his shoulder.
‘Good, the trucks around front,’ and with that she turned and trudged away in the snow.
He closed the door behind him, and followed, he wasn’t limping as badly today. A soft thud caused him to turn and look back, just in time to see fresh snowfall slide from the porch roof. A somber reminder of the avalanche, which had claimed much more than his leg.