Yesterday I posted some flash fiction. Since I was running late with finishing it, I had no chance to really consider why it ended up the way it did. It had sat dormant for 3 days before I decided to button it up. What a difference 3 days makes. My original idea was for a thriller of sorts with death, blood and destruction. Millie would be the "bad seed" infiltrator who worms her way into victims homes for her parents. Boss John and Martha ending up skewered and hanging from different beams in the barn. Their house plundered before it was torched. The story would end with Millie being "discovered" wandering forlorn and lost in a city park in Baltimore. If you have read it, then you know this is hardly how it turned out.
I only make note of this because again I am struck by how odd writing fiction has been for me. I'll start something with specific plot goals and character descriptions in mind and often it works out close to how I envisioned it. In other pieces it all goes to Hell in a hand basket and what I start with is nothing close to what I finish with. I had evil in mind when I started this one and out of the blue, the boy scout in me took over and well, I am pretty surprised with how schmaltzy it turned out. Which is fine. It is what it is.
I did have a point before I was rudely torn away by some stupid cat nonsense. The sounds of a cat winding up their puking machine just outside my door. And oh look. A nice warm sloppy stinky present right there waiting for me to step in it. You little bastards...........
Anyway, so I had a point, but am now struggling to retrieve it from the short term memory file. Dealing with cat barf always throws me off my game. At least this time I remembered the trick my daughter taught me. It is physically impossible to barf if you hum. So there I was happily humming away as I cleaned up still warm and freshly stinking cat puke. Stomach didn't sympathetically convulse once. Humming does indeed work.
Yes. I finally remembered or at least think I did, the point. My from the hip style of writing is fine for farting around. But I can tell now that I need more control and discipline when I write. All too often my stories go off topic and head south. No more perfect example exists than my offering here.
The image comes from Jeremy Mayer - a gifted sculptor whose work you should check out.