This week was a fun exercise, partly because I had just watched the episode of Lego Masters (the U.S. version) in which they had to build movie scenes. A couple of the teams received the advice to keep their stories simple and clear, not to get too complex or ambitious. I decided to take this advice to heart for myself.
It helped that the prompts were simple:
- Character: Historian
- Object: Ant hill
- Genre/Tone: Thriller
That meant simple motivations, straightforward action, and direct opposition.
Not that I pulled it off all that well. The goal is a little more convoluted than I wanted, and much of the action is repetitious. But at least it has some tension, and I genuinely like the premise of trying to get historical knowledge to those who need it to deal with a current crisis.
I’d love to know your thoughts on what works or doesn’t work in my story. If you want to join the fun by writing your own story, you here are the instructions for this exercise, and you can put your own short story (or stories) in the comments below.
Stacy crouched behind the massive redwood tree, it’s fibrous bark making her arm itch. But she didn’t have the energy to move. She only looked up the slope of the hill to where the radio transmitter emerged above the treetops.
In her satchel, her laptop held all the historical data on the last two times this breed of fire ants had invaded California. But unless she could broadcast it, no one would be able to find the home colony of the swarm to stop the invasion.
Since the ants had overrun all the transmitters on campus, or in any of the lowlying cities, this was her last chance at getting the critical information out. And the ants were not far behind her. In fact, she knew from her research that they were following her. So despite her exhaustion, she pushed to her feet and marched forward, uphill. Behind her, the dull scratching thrum of the ants grew loud enough to reach her ears. She looked everywhere for a stream or creek that she could pass through to dilute her scent, but there was nothing. As she climbed the slope, the trees became shorter, with branches that she could reach. She leapt up and grabbed a low-hanging branch, and scrambled up into the tree. Maybe there wouldn’t be any scent to follow? But by the time she settled herself on a branch, the swarm had already sent three lines of ants up the bole of the tree. Exactly following where she’d kicked off the trunk with her feet to reach the branch.
She couldn’t climb faster than they could. She pulled herself one branch higher, but they already were covering the branch she’d just left, and were covering the entire trunk below. Where could she go from there? The next tree over was a good five feet away. She rose, balanced with her feet on the branch and one hand on the trunk. She bent her knees and felt the spring of the branch beneath her. Then, just as the first ants crawled up onto the branch, she jumped. The branches of both trees slapped against her face and arms, and she crashed chest-first into the branch she had aimed for. It cracked beneath her, but held. One ant still clung to her boot. She smashed it against the tree trunk as she clambered onto a more stable branch. Behind her, the ants were swarming the whole tree she had just left, but none could find their way across thin air to her new post. With a deep breath, she continued. After leaping to a couple more trees, she returned to the ground, glad to have the solid earth beneath her feet again. She hiked up to the transmitter, pleased to know that this time, at least, history would not repeat itself.