The Rest of the Story

This post is by Doris McCraw

As a child Paul Harvey‘s radio show “The Rest of the Story” fascinated me. Mr. Harvey would tell a story with pieces of information that most people had forgotten or never knew.

Tonight I chanced to find the rest of the story.  While waiting for the murder mystery show I was in to finish  ( I died at the end of the scenes while the suspects had to stay to be questioned) I found a book of German Stories published in 1898.

Now I can hear you ask, what does that have to do with Paul Harvey and his radio program?  I counter with the question, how many know the full story of William Tell? Yes, that William Tell of arrow and apple fame.  The “William Tell Overture” became part of “The Lone Ranger” theme song along with “The Charge of the Light Brigade“.

Paul Harvey, 2005 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

But back to the William Tell story.  Yes he was to have shot the apple off the head of his six year old son. Do you know why the incident even happen? He had failed to bow to the hat of the king. As punishment he had to complete the feat we now remember him for.  What you may not know is he had two arrows and when the king asked what he had the second arrow for he said “if I had killed my son, then I would not have missed when I shot this arrow through your heart.”  You can imagine how the king felt about that. He then ordered him bound and taken to the dungeon at the castle.  That is not even the rest of the story. There is more.

For many of us, myself included, we stop short of finishing the story.  When developing a character we skim the surface of their lives and for some reason stop short of the true story.  Much like the legend of William Tell the whole story is so much more. The layers and moral are that much stronger. The story becomes more than just one incident and the character deeper, more interesting.

Now hopefully you are asking, what is the rest of  Tell’s story. Here it is.  As they are crossing the lake to the castle a storm comes up and everyone, including the king are unable to navigate to safety.  They release Tell from his bonds to save their lives.  He leads the ship to a rock and at the last moment he jumps ship.  The king and his men manage to arrive on shore safely. Then to finish the story Tell follows the king, who was an evil man, and uses the arrow to pierce the king’s heart.

So as Paul Harvey would say, you now know ” the rest of the story.”

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Write Local

This post by Frank Larnerd

Every day, we are bombarded by the idea of shopping locally. The concept that putting money into your local economy helps spur advances for yourself and neighbors is simple and true, but often times we ignore our local shop owners for cheap and flashy forgiven imports.

Writing can be the same. The towns and areas where we live hold incredible ideas for stories, but often we gravitate away from what we know, and seek out thrills from faraway places. Big cities and exotic locations might seem more glamorous and interesting than our own towns, but it’s not always true.

Every place is special and unique. Your town has a history, full of people who struggled to turn the wilderness into a home. Your town has folklore with ghosts and legends that are unlike any others in the world. Your town has a name, forged from someone who changed history. Your town has traditions, parades, events, and customs. Your town also has its share of murders, secrets, and whispers.

 

When looking for new ideas for stories, we can often overlook rare and distinctive ideas all around us. You don’t have to go to a big city, or fly halfway around the world to find amazing ideas for a story. Ideas are all around you and these local ideas are yours for the taking. Stories about your home town are authentic, personal, and special – and they can fuel your writing and build up the community around you.

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The Writing Dragon…

      This post by Craig Snider

Hello readers!

This is my first blog post for WW&W, and I’m very happy to be here.

Writing. That’s why we’re here, right? So, let’s talk about it. Many people have hopes and dreams of becoming a writer, to live their lives by the power of their words alone. But, realistically, this doesn’t often happen. Does this mean those of us struggling to improve their writing abilities should give up? Never. The thing about writing is that it is an art, much like music or painting. And art is a beast to conquer. It is a great dragon capable of rendering aspiring word acolytes into smoldering piles of ash. To conquer and tame the dragon requires rigorous and dedicated practice. Lift thy sword of ink, and thy shield of paper, and head off into battle!

“Down, beast! Down I say!”

How do we conquer the beast that is writing? Simple. We write.

Well, that may seem simple at first. It would be similar to me telling a beginning painter to just paint. They are likely to be overwhelmed by the sheer vastness of techniques, subjects, and media available to them. But, the most basic and accurate advice any writer can give another is:  Write, write, write. Yet, this doesn’t really help the novice writer either. So, let’s dig deeper, let’s penetrate those shiny and steely scales of the raging beast.

Yes, writing everyday, you are bound to improve. But, the danger here is that you may solidify bad writing habits. To do this means you will have a very big chink in your authorial armor. In fact, that would be the same as going up against the dragon with only a sword, no armor, and no shield. The result? Bar-B-Q’d knight.

“Awright… Now, thrust, an’ parry an’ stuff. Am I standing up??”

So, you must couple this daily discipline with learning. Every young knight is taught by that miserly old knight who suffers from excessive libation as he shouts his wisdom from within a stupor. But, nevertheless, the advice he gives is sound. And, more importantly, essential. We learn by listening to the wisdom of those who have gone before us.

There are a couple of ways to do this. First, you can read the works of the masters, and of those authors whose style you wish to emulate. But, you must do more than read. It is similar to the knight learning swordplay by sparring with masters, and with other novice warriors. As you read masterpieces of literature, you will begin to notice techniques and styles that are repeated from author to author. The thrust and parry of the knight is the metaphor and simile of the author. The footwork and feints become setting and theme. Though not as easy to learn as its swordplay counterparts, these skills are nevertheless essential to good writing. And, reading other novice writers’ work, or published authors whom you have no taste for can teach you just as much about what not to do, as what works and appeals to you.

Second, seek instruction on the art of writing. The easiest form of this instruction is typically at a university or college. Though a bit overly formal in most instances, a bachelors in English or Creative Writing will certainly help you develop a base of skills upon which to build your author’s tower. If you can’t afford to go to university, or if it doesn’t fit into your lifestyle, seek out fellow authors who are skilled writers. Where do you find them? The best place is at writing conferences, or local writing groups. True, many writers are not skilled enough to impart a qualified education, but I firmly believe you can learn at least one thing from every person. Learn to identify good writing. This is an acquired skill that will help you know which authors to seek out for advice. Build an army of skilled authors who can also act as discerning readers. They will be invaluable as you start your journey.

Well friends, we are a few steps closer to taming that dragon!

Until next time readers, keep writing.

Cheers.

“I shall teach you da ways of writing!”
“Yay!”
“Wha’happened? What day is it? And who’s the guy with the funny hat??”

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Dreaming with the Dead

By

Frank  Larnerd

I see dead people.

Correction, I used to see dead people.

Five nights a week, I would don my gray security uniform and aim my car for a tiny unassuming building on Charleston’s West Side. It was a sickly brown color, like bleached cat food. Surrounding the building was a ten foot fence and a half a dozen security cameras.

The other guard would let me in and I would set up my laptop for my midnight to eight am shift. After he left, I was alone. Just me and the dead.

Now it might not seem like it, but my job at the Medical Examiner’s Office was nearly perfect. I was basically paid to sit around and surf the Internet for eight hours. They didn’t care if you read, watched TV, or slept. As long as you were there to check in the bodies, they were happy.

The bodies, they never complained.

Sure it was creepy and it smelled horrible. The office combated the stench with air fresheners that operated on a timer. Every forty minutes they would crank out a blast of “Malibu Breeze,” or “Country Summer.” Mostly, they just scared the crap out of me.

They had trouble keeping guards, but I was determined, not to chicken out. After a while, I got used to it, or as used to it as anyone could. I started bring my lunch, even the sudden spray of air fresheners ceased to startle me.

I know it sounds crazy, but after three months, I started to sleep there.

It would be quiet most nights with long stretches without visits or phone calls. Some nights, there was nothing.

I had a little vinyl pillow, I borrowed from the kids. It was yellow with a mock cereal box printed on one side. The pillow fit perfectly in my backpack with my books and Ipod. Some nights, when the hours had stripped away my reserves and my eyes would grow heavy; I would rest my head on the desk and fall asleep.

I never had any problems. I would slip in my headphones and crash out. A half an hour later, I would pop back up, feeling slightly refreshed and ready to finish my shift. Because I’m an extremely light sleeper, I never worried about missing a call or hearing the buzz of the gate.

One night, laid my head down, ready to get a few winks in. I must not have been very deep in sleep, because the dream over took me before I knew it.

I wasn’t lying on the kid’s vinyl pillow anymore. My head was resting on a body. I could feel the cold plastic body bag against my face and when I turned my head, I could see the faint outline of a woman’s face, all adorned with makeup, through the thin plastic.

Her face was lovely – like looking through an opaque glass, I could make out her smoky-colored eyelids, the supple curve of her cheeks, and her full dark lips.

I remember feeling confused and ashamed at my situation, and then she opened her eyes.

I shot straight up. I was panicked and struggled for breath. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to recognize my surroundings.

Some people might never been able to sleep there again, but not me.

As a teen, I had read that the high levels of potassium in bananas could induce nightmares. I thought I could harness the nightmares for new story ideas. Every night before bed, I tried eating two or three bananas, but the nightmares never came.

Nightmares – like good story ideas can’t be forced. They sneak up on you while you shower, or wait in an empty parking lot. The good ones frighten you and leave their impression long after you’ve awoken. So when they come, be ready for them. Don’t push them aside with your morning cup of coffee, wrangle them and put them to work.

What was your best nightmare about?

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