Almost every listing on every Freelance Writing job board asks for the resumé and portfolio of all those inquiring about the position. In fact, almost to the tee, we are asked for as link to those items.

If you have your own web site that is dedicated to your freelancing business, then you are ahead of the game; if you don’t, shame on you. With all of the free blogging platforms (WordPress, Blogger, and Typepad to name a few) there is no reason you shouldn’t have a site with a resumé, your portfolio, and contact information.

WordPress.com offers over 1400 templates or themes to choose from, so building a professional looking freelance gun for hire site is fairly easy.

Don’t stop at building your home site. You want to create a network of pages that will help get you noticed by a wider group of  those looking for the hired guns. There are plenty of flexible free platforms that a freelancer can create a resumé and provide links to their portfolio.

One of the newest ones is Weedle, in fact, Weedle is set up to be a site that caters to resumés and portfolios. While the platform is truly a web 2.o publishing site, the pages are straightforward and specifically guide the user in posting work skills, work history, and recommendations. The also allow uploads for work samples.

Another great site to construct a resume at is Squidoo. Squidoo is maybe the most versatile publishing platform available on the Internet as everyone from large businesses to work at home mothers publish content in an effort to market something.

Squidoo offers many different templates to work with; possibly the easiest and cleanest template  to build a resumé with  is the SquidWho template.  The SquidWho theme is streamlined and highly configurable with many more widgets available than you could ever use. Personally, I recommend sticking with the text widgets and creating a simple, yet elegant resumé.

A number of simple, but effective resumés can be created and linked together in a short amount of time. The beauty of these pages is they all can be interlinked and linked back to your home site. Many of the available platforms are dofollow and have established page rank; SEO will be made a bit easier.

Don’t forget about LinkedIn; the social network for professionals. LinkedIn is becoming the standard for employment placement utility for thousands of  potential employers and clients. Make sure your LinkedIn profile is updated with links to all of your resumés and portfolios.

Oh yeah, your email signature is another great place to place links to your resumés as well as contact information. If you are using FireFox for a Internet bowser, I suggest the add-on called Wise Stamp. With Wise stamp, a handsome signature can be easily created that will automatically be placed on all of your outgoing email.

Wise Stamp is damn cool. You can include links to all of your social networking profiles, your latest Twitter updates, and the latest RSS feed from your blog.

By increasing your web footprint with many published resumés, a smart LinkedIn profile, and a dedicated site, you can have a better shot at landing some great freelance gigs you have missed out on in the past.

What are some of the publishing platforms you use to shill your skills?

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

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As a freelance writer, are you  saving words on the back end of a job by spending a few on the front end, or do you not care that every re-write you do as a freelancer cuts your pay in half? That’s right, every extra word digs into your pocket by taking time away from potential projects, as well as diluting your charge per word by fifty percent.

The best way to avoid unnecessary reworking is to ask questions up front. When was the last time this happened between you and the plumber you trust:

“ABC Plumbing,”

“Hey Bill, it’s John Doe over in Anytown”

“Hey John! What can I do for you?”

“I have a water problem at the house, and I’m at work.”

“I’ll be right over to fix it.” Click.

I’m betting on never. Even the best plumbers know to ask the right questions before getting off the horn and heading over to the trouble site.

Being a freelance writer means that you should too.

Ask the obvious as well as any not so obvious questions:

• What is the target audience?
• What SEO are you expecting?
• Word count minimums and maximums?
• Do you have examples of what you want?

Of course, you should always wait until the first submission has been accepted and signed off before you submit the next piece (for those jobs on a run of submissions); this way you have a reference in case of a rewrite request later.

Another very important step to take is to keep communication between you and your client open, friendly, and clear. Sort of like that refrigerator magnet with the plumber’s name and number on it.

On long running jobs, it is natural to drift off course, even slightly, so it is a good idea to perform a reality check with your client from time to time to ensure that the course is kept true. Most clients will tell you when things are running out of whack, but by showing the initiative and asking  your client how your work is looking can help keep re-writes down to a minimum.

Beware though; too many inquiries and you are a spineless pest. At least that’s what your client will be saying about you around the water cooler.

Get the answers up front, monitor your work along the way, and you will be well down the road to earning exactly what you contracted for as a freelance writer.

Can you think of any questions or tips to be added here?

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

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Victoria Twead, author of the book Chickens, Mules, and Two Old Fools, stopped in at EWN today for chat. What great fun we had, as we talked about the book (just a bit), the World Cup, El Hoyo, and Joe.

The chat really was more like a chat than a proper interview. Carrie stopped by and the girls chatted about home (England) for a bit. The mood was playful and relaxed. Just how it should be.

Actually, home for Vicky and Joe is now the mountains of Andalucia, an autonomous state of southern Spain. ‘Chickens’ is the telling of how Vicky and Joe  came to give Spain a go as a permanent residence.

The book is a pure joy to read as we are taken to the village and shown the wonders of  humanity and community. To find out more about the book, read the EWN review at Chickens, Mules, and Two Old Fools | Book Review.

As a bonus, there is a trivia question following the interview. The first comment that has the correct answer will get a free copy of ‘Chickens’, courtesy of Extreme Writing Now.

EWN: Is El Hoyo in one peice after the post World Cup celebrations?

Vicky: No. Definitely not! Foot high grafitti in the square, ‘CHAMPIONS!’, bullet holes in peculiar places, awash with paper Spanish flags, firework debris, etc.

Courtesy of @HamsteratFrys

EWN: In other words…pride runneth over, no?

Vicky: Si! Spain are so passionate about football anyway, and winning the World Cup was just mind-boggling for them!

EWN: Were you hoping for an English win of the tourney, or rooting for Spain from the beginning?

Vicky: Haha! Joe and I kept our options open. The English team were just embarrassingly poor, so it was good to have another team to support. And they won!

EWN: Always good when plan B works. Was there a lot of good natured cajoling from your neighbors?

Vicky: Actually, surprisingly, no. The Spanish have a huge respect for English football, and a few of the Spanish team players (eg. Fabregas, Alonso) play for English teams in the Premier League.

EWN: I bet Geronimo is going to earn his beer after yesterday’s win.

Vicky: Geronimo is not to be seen this morning. The last time I saw him was when he was climbing the church tower to ring the bells last night. He may still be in the tower…

EWN: Waiting for the fog to clear so he can climb back down?

Vicky: Probably! He’s such a nice man, though. The dreaded drink is his only downfall.

EWN: All your neighbors and friends seem like such nice folks. Chickens, Mules, and Two Old Fools really made me feel like I was there. Like I knew everyone.

Vicky: Well, it’s nice to hear that. The village is packed with eccentric characters and we’re proud to be one of them. I think they’ll always call us The English, but we have been made so welcome. Yesterday, an old man came round with a bowl of freshly picked cherries that he thought we’d like. That sort of thing happens every day.

At this point, Carrie logs in to join the fun

EWN: I’m pretty sure that you just didn’t decide in that instant you were staring out the rain streaked window into the dismal English weather that you wanted to move to Spain . How long was the ‘itch’ growing, and did it really take some nerve to tell Joe what you wanted to do?

Vicky: No, you’re right. Moving to sunnier climes was always a dream, and had been eating away at me for some time. Telling Joe wasn’t easy, but I usually get my own way in the end. The secret is to turn things round so he almost believes that it was his idea in the first place. Ooops, he just read that over my shoulder.

EWN: I’ll let you in on a little secret that will get me booted from the Men’s Club.Turning things round so we almost believe that it was our idea in the first place is a universal weakness.

Vicky: I know!!!!!

EWN: Taking notes, Carrie?

Carrie: Dont need ‘em

EWN: How long did it take Joe to live down his close and personal run in with Indalo?

Vicky: Haha! Poor Joe. There’s still a slight reddish imprint on his backside, but I prefer not to examine too closely.

EWN: LOL…want no part of the ills that may follow?

Vicky: Absolutely!

EWN: Joe is a real stand up kind of man, isn’t he?

Vicky: Hmm… Is that American jargon?

EWN: Well…maybe. I bet he did a lot of standing after that run in! Actually, it just means he is a great , one of a kind gentleman (your chance at bonus points with Joe)

Carrie: Like Alex!

Vicky: Joe is amazing. Short-fused but incredibly gentle, generous and kind. (Joe’s dictating to me here.) Actually, not true, he really does have those qualities, and he cooks a mean curry.

EWN: Was it Joe, or you that named that chicken Fuck? And why?

Vicky: Haha! How did I know you’d ask that! The two black chickens were even more curious than the others. They’d untie your shoelaces, trip you up, look in your pockets, etc. Joe swore at them so often, the two names just kind of stuck…

EWN: Lol…funny thing, I wasn’t even mildly shocked that the name was there. It seemed to flow in so naturally.

Vicky: So far, (touch wood) I haven’t had a bad review, except for some American ladies who liked ‘Chickens’ but were offended by those names. I apologised to them.

EWN: The way you describe your friends, neighbors and family in Chicken, Mules, and Two Old Fools was one of the big hooks (out of many) for me. I have mentioned caricatures and Carl Hiaasen only because your descriptions are not too far over the top and leave me with visual images or references. For instance: Judith reminds me of a more genuine Hyacinth Bucket (Patricia Routledge) with Julia Child’s voice. Did you mean to write them as near caricatures?

Vicky: Gosh! No, not consciously. I think it’s just the way I see people. You know how you can pick keywords from a sentence? Well, I seem to do the same thing with people in order to get their ‘essence’ across. Does that make sense?

EWN: Yes. Makes perfect sense to me. We remember features that tell the tale.

Vicky: May I ask you a question?

EWN: Certainly! I insist…I think.

Courtesy of @HamsteratFrys

Vicky: In your amazing review of ‘Chickens’, you said, “Now comes the cincher: I found a couple of awww moments in the book, so I’m sure that some of you ladies will need a tissue or two, especially if you read the same line that sent shivers down my spine when I read it.” My question, and I lie awake thinking about it, what was that line? I can guess, but I’m not sure… (If it’s a spoiler, don’t say…)

EWN: Well…it was the last line. That line tied a pretty bow around the entire  package.

Vicky: Well, you’ve surprised me! No, I guessed completely wrong. The Pepa, my favourite Egg Customer, incident reduces me to tears every time I think of it, but I didn’t guess the last line. Thank you!

EWN: Yes…that was the other moment. You are quite welcome.

EWN: The newsletters remind me of letters from home. El Hoyo really is home, isn’t it?

Vicky: Most definitely! Even when we’re away on a shopping trip, or whatever, both Joe and I feel homesick.

EWN: That’s wonderful! Would love to visit sometime. How about you Carrie? Wanna go?

Carrie: Yes, please!

Vicky: Our visitors usually say something like, ‘A bit third-world, isn’t it?’ but after a while, the charm of the village gets to them. Then they understand why we’ve made it our home.

EWN: For some reason, third world doesn’t reside in my vocabulary. I think I could see greatness no matter where I am standing.

Vicky: There are down sides too. Like poor TV reception, trying to figure out what official letters mean, trips to shops are an entire day affair, very cold in winter, etc.

Vicky: Flies. I forgot the flies. And more flies.

EWN: But, those never overcome the companionship and the terrace, right?

Vicky: That’s very true!

EWN: This has been a great joy. I want to thank you and Joe for the time. Carrie? Any questions for Vicky?

EWN: I could actually do this for hours

Carrie: No, I think you covered it all;  it’s been interesting to hear about you, Vicky

Vicky: I can’t thank you enough for the fabulous review you gave ‘Chickens’, Alex. It absolutely made my day, well, week, actually. You were too kind. And thank you for this interview, both of you, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it.

EWN: You are quite welcome, and thank you for the joy of the tale.

Vicky: You are most welcome.

Like I said, just a wonderfully informal chat that I hope you all enjoyed as much as I did.

Thanks again to Vicky, and to Joe for lending her to me for a couple of hours. And thanks to the wonderful Carrie for stopping in.

Now, as promised, her is that trivia question for a copy of Chickens, Mules, and Two Old Fools:

Q: Andalucia is famous for its variety of small portions of food, usually served with sherry, wine or beer. What are these dishes called?

Be the first to answer correctly in the comments below and I’ll send you the book.

Enjoy!

Author Victoria Twead can be found at:

Website

Squidoo

Twitter

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

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All good things must come to an end, and so it is for our series, Building A Short Story.

Eight weeks ago, we started with a 55 word fiction piece fully intending to  create a much larger work of fiction from the micro-fiction cornerstone. Our goal was to reach the requirements for a short story (1001 – 7500 words) by rewriting our piece with an exact word count doubling each time.

We reached short story status two installments ago when we hit 1760 words, doubled it once more to 3520, and are finishing up, without doubling, at 4548 words.

I honestly do not know what anyone else got out of this experiment, but I know I reaped great rewards. The least not being the fact that I actually helped finish something more than a flash fiction piece. Don’t get me wrong, I still think flash is ace, but writing a more substantial piece felt damn good.

Probably the most important thing I gleaned from this experience was the value of word economy at any level.  My freelance work often involves writing fluff to meet minimum word count requirements; whereas my love for writing flash, specifically the micros of 55 worders, constrains me to a maximum word count.

I like to think  the best prose written is where the author trusts the reader with the paint brush from time to time.  The trick is not the word count, but the impact that each word has on the  story; how well are we guiding our readers to their own imagination?

Without further prattling, here is the story in its entirety:

The Heart of the Hound

I was doing what I had been doing every night for the previous year when that call came in from the dispatcher; trying to choke back love by assaulting it with large doses of bourbon.

No matter how hard I tried to fight it off, love came at me with tear fueled memories that left gaping holes in my heart. Love tread on my soul with its horrific war hammer of depression. My essence screamed her name, but there was no answer.

Not since that fateful night, the year before, when my Shawna was ripped away from me by three .38 rounds while she was on her way to pick me up from the station. Damn that old truck, damn that carjacking asshole.

I swore I would never love again, yet every moment I live is torn by love.

The house was dark and cold. The phone rang and I choked back tears as I fumbled for the receiver, nearly dropping it.

Joanne,  the dispatcher on duty that night, had been with the department for as long as Denny and I had been friends. She loved us as family, often reminding one of an important calendar date for the other.  She knew exactly how men were.

Joanne called me to let me know that something terribly wrong had happened at Denny’s and I needed to sober up and get there immediately.

Joanne knew too much about me.

Stumbling to the bathroom to wipe away love’s abuse, I looked into the mirror and noticed that what were once graying temples had spread their influence all through my hair.

No time to lament on youth,  Denny was in trouble.

It is funny how an emergency can hold back the power of bourbon. Once in the city issue car and on the streets, I felt sober and my tactical thinking mind was coming into play. First I needed to go inside the scene and talk to Denny. Joanne did say that Denny was alive and, although Nora would be taken to the hospital, she would be fine. Joanne also said there was a death at the scene.

This could only mean one thing. Somehow, Nora’s life had been threatened and Denny took care of it. The love between Nora and Denny was legendary. Almost as legendary as mine and Shawna’s.

The drive took less than five minutes over the quiet streets, and I could see the aura of emergency vehicle lights well before I arrived. Pulling up to the scene, I popped two breath mints and got out.

Time to put on my work mask and suppress my own problems.

1 -2 -3-4-5- 6 >>>

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

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“To have an old friend visit from far away – what a delight!” What if that old friend was you? The quote just mentioned is from the introduction to Natalie Goldberg’s book, “Old Friend from Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir.” It was a birthday present from a dear friend and I thought it would provide good fodder for a memoir writing group on Extreme Writing Now.

Goldberg also writes that “there is nothing stiff about memoir.” It is not a chronological listing of facts about your life; it is rather those memories that affected your senses and are still present somewhere in you – the smell of the swimming pool, bologna sandwiches made by Grandma, an old tune your mother used to hum. It’s about successes and failures and the emotions underlying them.

For me personally, many memories are vague. I need all the help I can get to bring those memories to the surface. Another book called “Writing the Mind Alive” taught me about proprioceptive writing or tapping into the emotions that are still being held in our bodies. This was fascinating stuff and I have done several exercises with this kind of writing. See my Squidoo lens – Proprioceptive Writing – to find out more.

Each week (or maybe more) I will post an exercise from the book to get you writing. If you want to share your writing, great. If not, that’s okay too. Maybe you just want to share what the experience was like. We don’t have to tell our deepest, darkest secrets to the world, but I know I could share how I used to pick a tomato fresh off the vine, give it a lick, and throw some salt on the wet spot, and then eat it like an apple. To me, this was heaven. So, if this sounds interesting to you, please join in.

At the end of her introduction, Natalie Goldberg says, “Let’s pick up the pen, and kick some ass.”

© 2010, kimmanleyort. All rights reserved.

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We announced yesterday that this was the 6th installment in our series, Building A Short Story. Well, we were wrong, because this is actually week 7.

We have come a long way since we started with our 55 word fiction piece as a cornerstone to build our short story upon. The story has grown by exactly double with each passing week as we continue this experiment in creating a larger piece from micro-fiction.

The process has been a real joy for me as I’ve watched the tale grow into something that you can sink your teeth into. The story became an official short fiction piece last week, which is allowing us to flesh out more details.

One of the things I love about micro-fiction is that we allow our readers to use their imagination. Writers of flash are limited to word count, so every word has weight and momentum, otherwise the story will fall flat.

Authors of micro-fiction shove the readers over the cliff, where writers of beefier tales act as a guide on the path to the bottom.

During this week’s chats over the story line, Carrie and I finally decided where this thing was going to end up, which has been another great aspect about this project. We have trusted each other, although our styles and preferred genrés are vastly different.

I’d say the trust has worked in our favor.

The Heart of the Hound

I was doing what I had been doing every night for the previous year when that call came in from the dispatcher; trying to choke back love by assaulting it with large doses of bourbon.

No matter how hard I tried to fight it off, love came at me with tear fueled memories that left gaping holes in my heart. Love tread on my soul with its horrific war hammer of depression. My essence screamed her name, but there was no answer.

Not since that fateful night, the year before, when my Shawna was ripped away from me by three .38 rounds while she was on her way to pick me up from the station. Damn that old truck, damn that carjacking asshole.

I swore I would never love again, yet every moment I live is torn by love.

The house was dark and cold. The phone rang and I choked back tears as I fumbled for the receiver, nearly dropping it.

Joanne was the dispatcher on duty that night and she had been with the department for as long as Denny and I had been friends. She loved us as family, often reminding one of an important calendar date for the other. She knew exactly how men were.

Joanne called me to let me know that something terribly wrong had happened at Denny’s and I needed to sober up and get there immediately.

Joanne knew too much about me.

Stumbling to the bathroom to wipe away love’s abuse, I looked into the mirror and noticed that what were once graying temples had spread their influence all through my hair.

No time to lament on youth, Denny was in trouble.

It is funny how an emergency can hold back the power of bourbon. Once in the city issue car and on the streets, I felt sober and my tactical thinking mind was coming into play. First I needed to go inside the scene and talk to Denny. Joanne did say that Denny was alive and, although Nora would be taken to the hospital, she would be fine. Joanne also said there was a death at the scene.

This could only mean one thing. Somehow, Nora’s life had been threatened and Denny took care of it. The love between Nora and Denny was legendary. Almost as legendary as mine and Shawna’s.

The drive took less than five minutes over the quiet streets, and I could see the aura of emergency vehicle lights well before I arrived. Pulling up to the scene, I popped two breath mints and got out.

Time to put on my work mask and suppress my own problems.

1 -2 -3-4-5 >>>

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

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One sure way to get repeat work from a client is to him/her feel good.  With most clients who are hiring freelance writers to provide web content, making them feel good means making them some cash.

That IS the reason they hired us in the first place, is it not?

Let’s face it, whatever we write for the Internet is sales copy, because sales copy is not just about selling a product; no we are trying to motivate readers’ emotions towards a positive movement in one direction. Whenever content attempts to be authoritative,  it is pitching.

As  hired guns, the freelancers’ job sometimes means that we are to provide content that will not only draw potential buyers into the marketing vehicle, but we need to direct them to the checkout lane. We could create a title that is just the right hook and content that builds an emotional crescendo in the reader, but we could still fail by blowing the trigger, or  Call To Action (CTA).

We’ve all seen those big neon yellow and/or orange banners that scream  words such as ‘Buy Now!‘ or ‘Don’t Miss Out!‘, those are CTA’s. In web content a CTA is most often ‘click here‘. But after writing content that is loaded with emotional benefit that greaes the potential buyer up so they can slide into the cart easier, why do we blow it with a typical ‘click here‘ or ‘act now‘?

We can increase the conversion rate of our content if we put just a wee bit of thought into our CTA. Think about this; content is typically talked about as having three distinct sections, Title, Content, and Call To Action. We are always trying to target a particular audience with the bait of the title, reel them in with content, and net them with the CTA. But, we often think that if the content is solid, the net is a mere after thought and we settle for any conversion rate.

We need to target the prospects with our CTA as well.

I own and operate an ecommerce retail store that sells biker leather apparel and accessories. My helmet pages were getting a lot of looks that were delivered from one of the store’s blogs, but the conversion rate was dismal.

To change this, I rewrote product reviews so that instead of the CTA being ‘Check out our fine selection of helmets here‘ to ‘Be legal and be free ~  strap on one of our radical DOT  half-helmets‘.  Knowing that most bikers have a thing about being free and rebellious towards helmets. So, half helmets are huge in states that require helmets, and all helt states require the lids to be DOT approved.

The conversion rate from those articles climbed 5 points. Huge! Especially when you consider that the effort spent was less than thirty minutes.

Imagine if we can make something like that happen for our clients. What would happen if we sold them content that out of the box outperformed what they already had published?

Open your mind and the possibilities will glow like fireflies in a jar.

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

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Well, here we are at week 6 in our series, Building A Short Story , and we are saying good-bye to flash fiction; never to bring this story back to its micro-fiction roots of the 55 word fiction tale it started out as.

A quick recap: we, Carrie and myself, wanted to get the creative juices flowing and write a short story, and I saw an opportunity to introduce a great concept in building a short fiction tale from the foundation of a flash piece.

We started this project with The Heart of the Hound being a stand alone micro-fiction piece and have been rewriting it each week by doubling the word count. Because Carrie doesn’t write much flash (1000 words 0r less), and I rarely write short stories (1001 to 7000 words), the project has been the perfect blend for us to write together.

Last week we were at 880 words, the last stop on the flash fiction line. This week we have moved deep into the realm of short story land as we both added to the rewrite with a nearly seamless voice.

The Heart of the Hound

I was doing what I had been doing every night for the previous year when that call came in from the dispatcher; trying to choke back love by assaulting it with large doses of bourbon.

No matter how hard I tried to fight it off, love came at me with tear fueled memories that left gaping holes in my heart. Love tread on my soul with its horrific war hammer of depression. My essence screamed her name, but there was no answer.

Not since that fateful night, the year before, when my Shawna was ripped away from me by three .38 rounds while she was on her way to pick me up from the station. Damn that old truck, damn that carjacking asshole.

I swore I would never love again, yet every moment I live is torn by love.

The house was dark and cold. The phone rang and I choked back tears as I fumbled for the receiver, nearly dropping it.

Joanne was the dispatcher on duty that night and she had been with the department for as long as Denny and I had been friends. She loved us as family, often reminding one of an important calendar date for the other. She knew exactly how men were.

Joanne called me to let me know that something terribly wrong had happened at Denny’s and I needed to sober up and get there immediately.

Joanne knew too much about me.

Stumbling to the bathroom to wipe away love’s abuse, I looked into the mirror and noticed that what were once graying temples had spread their influence all through my hair.

No time to lament on youth, Denny was in trouble.

It is funny how an emergency can hold back the power of bourbon. Once in the city issue car and on the streets, I felt sober and my tactical thinking mind was coming into play. First I needed to go inside the scene and talk to Denny. Joanne did say that Denny was alive and, although Nora would be taken to the hospital, she would be fine. Joanne also said there was a death at the scene.

This could only mean one thing. Somehow, Nora’s life had been threatened and Denny took care of it. The love between Nora and Denny was legendary. Almost as legendary as mine and Shawna’s.

The drive took less than five minutes over the quiet streets, and I could see the aura of emergency vehicle lights well before I arrived. Pulling up to the scene, I popped two breath mints and got out.

Time to put on my work mask and suppress my own problems.

1 -2 -3 >>>

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

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Our series, Building A Short Story, pulls into the last station on the Flash Fiction Line. That’s right, our 55 word fiction piece is about to experience the fourth word count doubling since we established it as the cornerstone for a short story.

Just in case you haven’t been following the series, we (Carrie and myself) started with The Heart of the Hound as a micro-fiction tale, a 55 worder to be exact, and have been rewriting it every week by doubling the word count in order to end up with a bona fide short story. To make the effort genuine, we have been rewriting to end up with a stand alone story every week.

Outline or no outline? I am sure you all have seen this question a few times in your writing life. Personally, I never use them. I feel rather guilty about not using them because I think I am stifling what could be longer prose that has more depth.

I always write on the fly and this exercise is actually helping me infuse a bit of an outline into my writing habits. We started with the flash piece, which by law must have characters, plot and resolution; basic outline stuff. So, the story will maintain its infrastructure as we rewrite and it won’t lose focus along the way.

I rather like this. I don’t have to sit down and plan out my story while the initial spark turns into something less than a glowing ember.

The Heart of the Hound

I was doing what I had been doing every night for the previous year when that call came in from the dispatcher; trying to choke back love by assaulting it with large doses of bourbon.

No matter how hard I tried to fight it off, love came at me with tear fueled memories that left gaping holes in my heart. Love tread on my soul with its horrific war hammer of depression. My essence screamed her name, but there was no answer.

Not since that fateful night, the year before, when my Shawna was ripped away from me by three .38 rounds while she was on her way to pick me up from the station. Damn that old truck, damn that carjacking asshole.

I swore I would never love again, yet every moment I live is torn by love.

The house was dark and cold. The phone rang and I choked back tears as I fumbled for the receiver, nearly dropping it.

Joanne was the dispatcher on duty that night and she had been with the department for as long as Denny and I had been friends. She loved us as family, often reminding one of an important calendar date for the other. She knew exactly how men were.

Joanne called me to let me know that something terribly wrong had happened at Denny’s and I needed to sober up and get there immediately.

Joanne knew too much about me.

Stumbling to the bathroom to wipe away love’s abuse, I looked into the mirror and noticed that what were once graying temples had spread their influence all through my hair.

No time to lament on youth, Denny was in trouble.

It is funny how an emergency can hold back the power of bourbon. Once in the city issue car and on the streets, I felt sober and my tactical thinking mind was coming into play. First I needed to go inside the scene and talk to Denny. Joanne did say that Denny was alive and, although Nora would be taken to the hospital, she would be fine. Joanne also said there was a death at the scene.

This could only mean one thing. Somehow, Nora’s life had been threatened and Denny took care of it. The love between Nora and Denny was legendary. Almost as legendary as mine and Shawna’s.

The drive took less than five minutes over the quiet streets, and I could see the aura of emergency vehicle lights well before I arrived. Pulling up to the scene, I popped two breath mints and got out.

Time to put on my work mask and suppress my own problems.

Continued >>>

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

Related posts

• The Long Road Home (Part 3) (3)
• The Long Road Home (Part 6) (2)
• Looking Towards 440 ~ The 220 Word Leap (2)
• Building A Short Story ~ We Have Lift Off! (3)
• Building A Short Story ~ Carrie Takes It To 440 (1)

Well here we are, week 4 of our series, Building A Short Story, and we are now sitting on 440 words. This instalment will be the next to last step before we start plunging into the official short story realm.

In case you haven’t been following along, we started the series in an effort to demonstrate how a 55 word fiction piece can be used as a springboard to create, at the very least, a fully fledged short story.

The process is simple:  we started with a 55 worder and have rewritten the story every week by doubling the word count.  To make this interesting, we started by writing the tale on the fly and really haven’t had much discussion about it until this week.

Why this week? Because we are getting close to Carrie’s forté of the short story and she took the reins on the 220 words we wrote last week  and added this week’s rewrite, so we needed to make for a nearly seamless fit.

She did a damn fine job too

The Heart of the Hound

The night air was whisking away the sounds of an ambulance as I stood inside of Detective Denny Samson’s brick ranch. Getting inside the living room where Denny was sitting on the couch was made easier by the front door being torn from the hinges.

Broken furniture, memories and blood littered the pale blue carpet and off white walls.

Denny’s hands were covered with blood and shards of flesh.

“Did you see it?”

“Detective?”

“The Hound. Blazing eyes, heart shaped patch of deep red hair on its chest.”

Crazy, just like the Bentley chick. “Nora’s fine, but you killed the attacker.”

Denny replied with fear, “No. Not me. The beast,” and then he looked up shakily at me, “There’s more. I don’t think the hound was alone.”

Knowing that fear and adrenalin can combine for powerful hallucinations during moments of intense stress, and also knowing that my brother in arms and one of my best friends over the last decade needed some calming, I asked him,” Do you think you can recount what happened? Or would you rather wait until you’ve calmed down?”

“I don’t think I can,” cradling a now blood smeared face in his hands.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his rights would most likely be read to him before he told the whole story.

It turned out he knew; knew how things looked and knew I was only doing my job. But I could still see the treachery in his eyes.

I couldn’t blame him for that. I could feel the strength of my convictions bubbling up inside me and it weren’t pretty.

Sitting there in front of me, with the blood on his hands beginning to dry and flake off, he didn’t look like the Denny I knew any more. There was something else…Something more than the betrayal he’d shown me earlier. Only this wasn’t a look or a sense, this was a knowing.

Denny had changed.

Thinking back to when he was sitting in his living room, I’d taken his arm to guide him gently towards my issue car. I’d needed to take him down to the station for questioning but I already knew that he was going to describe a thing;  something I could never hope to bring to trial. He’d stumbled then, on the way to the car, but his reaction to his impending fall had been quick. Too quick.

It was afterwards as I was driving, that I had felt that sensation of  ‘knowing’ for the first time. It had frightened me then.

Now, with a look that would haunt me for the rest of my life, he began…

Carrie gives a deeper relationship between the two cops as well as introducing a bit more of the mystery surrounding the hound. But, most importantly, there was another element that a deeper step was taken towards, and I ain’t about to reveal that one yet.

Join us next week as we take this thing to 880 words, our last instalment in the world of flash fiction. Also, if you are trying this trick at home, let us know, we’ll be more than happy to provide a link to your supreme efforts at the bottom of these posts.

Enjoy!

© 2010, Alex Crabtree. All rights reserved.

Related posts

• Looking Towards 440 ~ The 220 Word Leap (2)
• Building A Short Story ~ We Have Lift Off! (3)
• Building A Short Story ~ The 880 is on schedule (3)
• Trail of Fears (3)
• The Long Road Home (Part 4) (1)