This week: Seasons Change Edited by: Leger~  
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Seasons Change
Here on the east coast of the United States, autumn is arriving. The leaves are beginning to change, bright colors lighting up the landscape on sunny days. Of course there are rainy days, but even those days, a walk in the mist can be inspiring if you spend time observing the weather.
In short stories, you shouldn't use excessive words describing the setting unless it is crucial to the story. The reader can imagine your setting, with the small hints you provide within the writing. So be creative, use your best concise descriptions to help set the scene. Certainly if your character is going to get in an accident in the rain, you need to show the reader the weather. Every season has its dangers, from frost, to heat, to rain and snow. And don't forget those perfect days when the sky is blue and the breeze is fresh and lovely.
Remember, as the story progresses, track the seasons and keep them in tune with the time line in the story. Keep it relevant. You never know when a storm will blow in or ice will form. The seasons change, even in the tropics. Have fun with the weather, it can add an element of surprise sometimes.
And as always, Write on!
This month's question: What's your favorite season? Send in your answer below!  Editors love feedback!
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Excerpt: Winter had spent months making the land the way he liked it. Bluster and toil had gotten him this far and now it was time for him to settle in and enjoy the fruits of his labour. He laid himself out on an expanse of meadow and released a frigid sigh, feeling quite content with his handiwork.
Excerpt: A breeze, light yet noticeable, dances around her body's curves. The smell bullies into her senses and she hesitates. Warm smells building out of the natural rot of earth and leaves. Cold smells like that of a pumpkin rimed in a light frost. Her eyes skip through the darkness trying to find any light to form an image. Someone is here, someone she does not want here.
Excerpt: Lady Vera Victoria held the crystal Orb of the Elders in both of her hands. Without raising her eyes from the vision she was focused on, she nodded her regal head towards Marsden, the Wizard of Triem.
“Come and see what I see Marsden,” she said. Her long purple black hair cascaded in silken waves, forming a stole over her shoulders. The Queen’s violet eyes worked carefully with the crystal’s light as it shot laser spikes out of it’s center, The heat transfer of her hands stoked the power of the highly polished enchanted ball.
Excerpt: "What do you think about people?" asked Autumn, twirling a stalk of golden wheat between his fingers. Summer was lying next to him, enjoying the sun. She shuffled around a bit and propped her head up on her hand, looking at him.
"People? I like them well enough. They like having fun, and so do I," she grinned widely. "I guess you could say we're compatible. What about you?"
Autumn closed his eyes and sighed. "Oh, they're fine. I just wish they'd quit cutting down trees for once. It certainly doesn't do anything for the aesthetics of the landscape, let me tell you that."
Excerpt: To the left of Spring, and the right of Autumn, Summer languished in the heat under clear blue skies. He cast his eyes towards the Spring as any love struck fool would have. He relented his cooling showers to help her flowers bloom. When Spring thanked him, Summer elated. But Autumn saw the cracks in the earth of his kingdom. He gave so much rain to Spring that his own land suffered from drought.
Autumn tilted her head at him, her lips pursed as she tried to recall the last time he had given her rain. “No rain for autumn,” he said. “Your flowers are all dying. What would be the use?”
“But if you give them water, then they will live.”
He shook his mighty head at her.
Excerpt: Elliot stormed out of his apartment, slamming the door and stomping down the stairs. The shrill, angry voice of a woman called after him, “Don’t even think about coming back!”
Elliot’s feet pounded on the concrete as he barreled his way down the sidewalk, and away from the fight. His heart was racing, as anger coursed through him. It was their first fight. He couldn’t even remember what had started the argument; it wasn’t important anyway. What was important was that he left. He had never walked out before.
Excerpt: He usually avoided the music store, avoided even looking at it. Once, after his parents had explained to him what the place was, he had stood outside looking in for ages, trying to get his head around the concept: an entire shop full of strange, mystical things that he couldn’t even understand. Noises. Vibrations travelling through the air, which most people could pick up, but some people could not. Sound. A magical word. A magical world, which he could not enter. He had stood there until someone came out and asked if they could help him. He had touched his ear and said, slowly and carefully, that he was deaf, and the lady’s eyes had changed in that way that peoples’ eyes did, and she had looked back towards the store and then back at him, and she looked ashamed, as if she felt she had been hiding this place from him, had been guiltily enjoying the music, the sounds, while she left him isolated. He had wanted to tell her that it was ok.
Excerpt: As I shovelled leaves into a large rubbish bag, I heard a surprised 'hello' and spun around, almost tripping over the prone rake. My initial worry that the funeral party had started to arrive faded upon spying Haldis standing beyond the stone plot opposite, clutching his burnt-orange leather notebook. The scarf wrapped around his throat like a cravat was the same burnt orange, not a colour every male could carry off but it suited him. I got out a stiffened smile, and flexed my jaw behind a hand. Quite aside from not having my gloves, I didn't have my scarf either and my face felt numb. 'Hi, Haldis.'
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This month's question: What's your favorite season? Send in your answer below! Editors love feedback!
Last month's question: What techniques do you use to add intrigue to your story?
Quick-Quill  replied: I am writing a Thriller. It involves an Ex-Pat who's been given a memory suppressant drugs. His memory is returning(back story woven into the story) He enlists the help of a woman he's only seen in passing a few times to escape an agent sent to bring him in. they are on a cross country run. Living off grid. Can it be done? There was a TV series Hunted where couples had to allude officials to reach a destination and win $250K. It can be done.
Gentle Giantess's Rule  commented: I just write what I feel is intriguing.
shepherd46 wrote: The techniques I use to add intrigue to my story are descriptions of characters and their environment and implications that "something is not quite right." I also use dialogue to add intrigue. Dialogue can be vague, direct or implied.
twowolves said: Curves...you got it figured out and then...out of nowhere...
Expert at this is George R. R. Martin....first book I was sure Ned was the Hero of the series...until he was decapitated.
karosorakaros advises: Don't give anything away. Give them nothing. No names, no places, no descriptions. Just mystery.
jdennis01jaj posted: Subterfuge
somik1 responded: The compactness in writing style is the key. Not only that, a good writer always take care of the readability of that story.
Xarthin sent: Those who speak daggers use none and the opposite is often also true.
Thanks for the replies!
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Short Stories: October 16, 2019 Issue [#9818]
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