Are you a snippet writer?

[Fredster]

Am I the only one who writes snippets, little scenes I see in my head and put to paper for later use?

I have tons of them, and I always get a kick out of re-reading them when I come across one.

I just found the one below. Do you have any snippets you've written that aren't part of a larger work? Maybe a scene or a couple of paragraphs? Share away!

* * * *

Jeremy was almost asleep when his closet door unlatched with the softest snick. It swung open like an enormous mouth, and the low squeal of a dry hinge brought him to full wakefulness. He lay quietly, hardly daring to breathe, as something rustled in the depths of the closet. Mommy, he thought, willing himself to scream it, but the fear clutching him was too strong and he made no sound.

A scraping, like something being dragged across the wood floor. Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut, praying that he was really asleep, that this was just some bad dream, but his prayers went unanswered. The sound drew closer, right beside the bed now. Something cool touched his cheek, stroked it with the gentle caress of a butterfly’s wing, and his bladder released in a rush of heat. Helpless, he opened his eyes.

An old woman stood next to his bed, staring down at him with eyes of midnight, so dark the thin light from his Snoopy nightlight was lost in them. Her lank black hair hung around her head, and her leathery skin was mottled like limestone. One wiry arm was stretched out to him, and the finger against his face was long, delicate and skeletal thin. Incredibly, she was smiling.

“Mommy,” Jeremy whispered. His breath hitched in as though he’d been crying, but his eyes were dry.

The ancient woman began to hum tunelessly, her voice dried brown leaves. She trailed the long pale finger down Jeremy’s face and chest, stopping at his navel. Through the thin cotton pajama top, he felt her touch grow cold, so cold it burned him.

“Please don’t hurt me,” he said, and now he was crying, the tears racing down either side of his face to be lost in his hair.

“Uwe’la Na’tsiku Su sa sai,” the old woman sang in her raspy voice, and thrust her hand into him.

[Cliff Face]

I don't do snippets, unless you count my 2 WIPs that are less than 10k long...

I considered trying that method for one of those WIPs, but since then I've pretty much decided to rewrite the 4k or whatever that was there in entirety, so the story would be different again from what I've written. I think it's first-line-itis - I have about a chapter's worth of writing done for that WIP, but I hate the first line and thus for some reason can't bring myself to like the entire first chapter. It needs to have more zing.

That snippet of yours is written well enough, I think, but I tend to avoid children in writing... mostly because as a child I was more mature than my parents, so when I read about the stereotypical crying helpless child, I get a little ticked off. Just an opinion, and I know I'd probably be in the minority, so take it with a grain of salt. :)

The only time I'd use a child in a book is if the book were aimed at children/YA - and a ghost reaching deep into a crying child's chest doesn't exactly scream children's novel! :)

Still, just an opinion.

Edit: I suppose using child torture would pull on a parent reader's heart a bit, so that could be useful for enticing readers to carry on. But I still don't like children in books. :)

[Matera the Mad]

I do it. I look ahead sometimes, just like I always did in school (LOL). A scene that I haven't come to yet plays out, and I have to write it.

[aadams73]

Yes, I often write snippets and put them away in an Ideas file.

[shethinkstoomuch]

I'm primarily a snippet writer. I write out of order, too. I tend to get good ideas that I need to commit to paper before I forget them.

[chocowrites]

I'm a snippet writer. A lot of the times I write something and I'm not sure if it's going to be part of my current WIP, a short story, or something else altogether. So I have lots of files with just a paragraph or so if the snippet doesn't fit in anywhere...
Currently writing my WIP this way (in little bite-size snippets) and it's getting hard to piece together...

[virtue_summer]

I have a ton of these snippets around. They range from full scenes to paragraphs I wrote and just stopped because I haven't yet figured out where they go. With very few exceptions this is how all of my stories get their start.

[2Wheels]

Been there. Done that. Particularly so if it involves dialogue. If I get a good bit of conversation going about something out of sync with where I'm currently at, I write it down for later. I do tend to sketch major scenes out in draft at least, completely out of order ... ! A lot of it boils down to the mood I'm in. I have to grab the inspiration when it strikes!

[Renee Collins]

Yeah, I do that all the time, but it's usually for the novel I'm working on. I don't really outline, but I'll envision key scenes in the story. Often, I'll have to write those down if I see them particularly clearly in my head.

[Renee Collins]

P.S. Your snippet is really creepy!

[Sandy Shin]

Snippets! How I love them. I am a very linear writer who seldom writes full scenes out of sequence. I am also very absentminded and would forget an idea the very next day, so writing down a few sentences helps me to remember it afterward. Also, many of my novel projects came from snippets I scribbled on a piece of flashcard or on the back of my notebooks. :>

[jodiodi]

I have tons of snippets. I keep them in a file and sometimes I find where they fit when I start writing a WIP. I also usually start with a scene in the middle or end and work out of order.

Of course, right now, I'm not writing anything worth keeping. I have a bunch of snippets that aren't worth the bytes they exist on.

[panda]

Jeremy was almost asleep when his closet door unlatched with the softest snick.
This reminds me exactly of a line melissa marr wrote in ink exchange it even ends with an italicized snick lol, sorry that just struck me as weird, though her scene is about tattoos. :)

I write in snippets but I'm trying to force my snippets into a novel. My thought process is not linear and I hate outlines. It bores me to stay with a scene I'm not feeling.

[Stunted]

I do every now and then. With me, it's funny, because I don't even think. They just happen. They're very short, though, and, again, they don't happen very often, but I tend to be very surprised by how good they are. (Not in a conceited way. In a "Shit, what happened?" way.)

[Fredster]

I figured I wasn't the only one who writes snippets. Doesn't anyone want to share one? :)



Cliff Face - the old woman in my snippet isn't a ghost, she's something worse. Poor Jeremy did not survive his meeting with her.

[Ken Hoss]

I have notebooks full of snippets! And countless bits and bytes stored on my computer.

It's funny, when I started my current WIP, I didn't think in "linear". I had a beginning and an end, then started thinking about the middle. It was then that my mindset changed, and everything had to follow a perfect timeline. That is when the whole story changed, took on a life of it's own. Now I'm bogged down in an effort to make it all "fit", and it's not easy, I keep getting lost.

I say, down with "linear" thinking, let your mind run free! :D

Here is a good example of "linear" thinking.


http://socialstudies.nelson.com/arnold/skimm/main/items/linearthinking.html

[bearilou]

I'm a snippet writer. I use them mainly to get a feel for character voices if I have what I think is a great character but they are really quiet in my head. I slap them into a scene and let them run wild.

It's how I've fleshed out the two characters that I constantly barrage people with when they want to read something I've written I'm currently writing a book about.

I figured I wasn't the only one who writes snippets. Doesn't anyone want to share one? :)

Like I'm gonna pass up a chance to show off stuff?

Jack and Luke are members of a downtown pack of werewolves. Jack stays in his human form, Luke in his wolf. Together.....they fight crime! ...or something...

---

Jack slumped on the bus stop bench and tucked his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket. “When Jack was a little boy, he was like all normal little boys. He had dreams, wishes that he kept on little slips of paper in a box beneath his bed.”

“Jack?”

“His biggest wish was to be like all the other little boys on the playground. Oh, to be sure, he could rough and tumble with the best of them.”

Luke shifted on the bench and placed a paw on his knee. “Um, Jack? Who are you talking to?”

“Quiet, I’m telling a story.” Jack waved his hand at Luke. He addressed his invisible audience again and stopped, his hand dropping to rest on Luke’s neck. “Where was I? You made me lose my place.”

“Wished to be like the other boys,” Luke said. “But I’ve heard this story already.”

“I know. I’m telling you again. When the other little boys had a mother to run to when they scraped their knee, Jack had no one. He was all alone.”

“That’s not what you said before. You said your grandmother raised you.”

“Yesyesyes, but she’s technically not my mother. So, you see? I had no one to kiss my scraped knees.”

“You don’t like it when I kiss your scraped knees.”

“You’re not my mother.”

“Why wouldn’t you want your grandmother to put her mouth on your dirty, bloody knees? Why just a mother? Don’t you humans revere your elderly? And I’d kiss your knees.” He flicked his tongue out and touched his nose.

“No, I mean yes. We do revere them. Some humans, anyway, and it’s not a literal thing, Luke. I’m speaking metaphorically, so you’ll kindly keep your tongue to yourself." Jack grabbed Luke by the scruff of the neck to push him away.

Luke ducked under Jack's hand and shook out his ruffled fur. “I have heard of the healing magic of mothers and their kisses, though, at least among you humans. Mothers become grandmothers, wouldn’t it hold to reason that grandmothers hold even more power? Why would you need doctors if everyone has grandmothers?”

Jack held his hands up. “Please. My story. I have a point.”

Luke blinked his large, brown eyes rapidly and then chuffled in laughter.

“What?”

“Nothing. Continue. Grandmother, kissing knees, etc.”

Throwing his hands up in defeat, Jack gave Luke an exasperated look. “I’ve lost my stream of thought. You never appreciate my stories.”

“If they really had a point, I might,” Luke said.

“I always have a point.”

Luke looked around Jack and down the sidewalk where the Fresh Donuts sign blinked to life. “Was the point to go get doughnuts?”

“No. But I suppose it could be.”

“Good.” On his feet, Luke stretched long, first backward, then forward, kicking his feet out behind him. He gave a hearty shake and headed down the sidewalk. “The doughnut shop timer just went off. Doughnuts are done.”

Jack stuck his hands in his pockets and trailed behind his lupine partner. “I just wish I could get through a story for once without you interrupting.”

Rising to his hind feet, Luke used his forepaws to push on the door to the doughnut shop. “You’ll figure it out.”

“What, wait until your mouth is full?” Jack slid onto their usual stools and gestured to Marjorie for their usual.

“Something like that.”

“Luke. You don’t talk. You…think at me.”

“Point. But I can’t eat and think at the same time.”

Going through many iterations of trying to work that one out, Jack finally gave up. He huddled around his coffee and stared sullenly into the steamy drink with the occasional loud, quite put upon, sigh.

Luke looked at his plain glazed doughnut, the sugar a beautiful complete coat of glaze covering the steaming warmth of the freshly baked pastry. “I’m not going to be able to eat in peace until you tell your story, am I?”

“Nope.”

There was silence other than the usual comings and goings of the city traffic as the shop busied to get them their caffeine and sugar jolts for the morning commute.

“So Jack had wishes and dreams, like other normal boys about wanting a mother to kiss his skinned knees.”

“Right!” Jack turned on his stool so he could talk to Luke in low, hushed tones. “When the other little boys had a mother to run to when they scraped their knee, Jack had no one. He was all....”

[Ken Hoss]

Jack and Luke are members of a downtown pack of werewolves. Jack stays in his human form, Luke in his wolf.

Interesting concept. I like the way the two characters play off each other.

[Fredster]

Thanks for sharing that, bearilou -- it was a fun read. :)

[SarahMacManus]

I do it all the time, and often build work out of them.

[motormind]

Me? Write in snippets? Maybe. Sometimes. I have this notion. The rain falls. And trains rumble over slippery leaf-laden tracks. Nowhere to go.

What was this about again?

[Lady Ice]

I'm definitely a snippet writer :D Hence my dabbling with playwriting.

[Straka]

I occasionally do snippets, more of a test to figure out what sort of "voice" I want to use for the work.

[MGraybosch]

I'm primarily a snippet writer. I write out of order, too. I tend to get good ideas that I need to commit to paper before I forget them.

I'm not primarily a snippet writer, but I sometimes write them in order to play with an idea that I'm not sure will fit into my WIP.

[jinap]

I have some snippets, but then I just go and put them in my blog. I don't feel as though I can write a whole book from any of them.

[Sarah W]

My WIP folder is full of little scribbles and bits that I've written down on scraps at my day job or at a red light. That way, I can keep my mind on the story while I'm earning an actual living . . .

But I have bushels of other snippets I've collared on paper in order to keep them from jumping up like little yapping puppies so I can concentrate on my current project(s).

Like this one, which attacked me last week:


The small boy had attached his nose to a display window. “Come on Mom, it’s just a little alien.”

“No,” said the woman.

I winced as the wheedle turned into a whine.

“But Moo-oom!”

“I said no. It’ll only piddle on the carpet, and you know that stuff is flammable.” She shuffled her bags around and grabbed his arm. “Look what happened to your friend Stewie’s house.”

The kid dug in his heels. “Aw, Mom, I’ll train him and walk him--twice a day. You won’t even have to feed him. I swear!”

She dragged him past me, aiming a tight apologetic smile in my direction. “That’s what you said the last time, and I won’t ever forget the look on that poor constipated dragon’s face . . .”

In the window, little green men with big black eyes and no noses hopped up and down under a “Discontinued” sign like hairless puppiepals. They’d stopped making puppiepals when I was a boy. My mother hadn’t let me have one, either.

Maybe they’d piddled on carpets, too.

A clerk came to the front, leading a jabberwocky by a pink leash and talking to a largish woman in a purple dress with a pink fur collar. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” he said. “Just keep its nails trimmed and make sure it has plenty of chew toys.”

The woman nodded. “But what if it tries to climb on my furniture?”

He pointed to her shiny green shopping bag, the words Designer Pet World glowing on the side in fancy gold letters. “Just show it the vorpal sword, and you shouldn’t have any problems.” He handed her the leash.

The woman bent over and caressed the muzzled snout with beringed hands. “Is ‘oo ready to go home, mama’s little pwecious? Is ‘oo? Kiss-kiss.”

The beast burbled, and the woman led it away, her heels snicker-snacking in counterpoint to her new pet’s rattling armaments.

“Home protection, I can see,” I said. “But 'kiss-kiss?'”

The clerk turned to me and beamed. “Can I interest you in a pet, sir? We’re running a special on cold-heat phoenices.”

“What’s a pheenicee?”

“Phoenices,” he said, drawing out the final _ess_. “The plural of phoenix.”

I stared at him. “There’s not supposed to be a plural of phoenix,” I told him. “There’s only supposed to be one at a time.”

He turned up the sincerity in his smile. “They’re very popular. Hours of entertainment. You can even set the rebirth cycle to suit your convenience.”

I shuddered. “No, thanks.”

“Are you sure? They’re solar-powered.”

“No.”

“I can offer gryphons and manticores. Or maybe a Vatican-endorsed unicorn? Guaranteed virgin-sensitive.”

I turned to go.

“We just got in a sphinx,” he called.

“I know the riddle already,” I said over my shoulder. What was the plural of sphinx supposed to be? Sphinices?

***

I mean, I know it's going somewhere, but I can't follow it--no, really, no. I need to finish at least one project first . . .

[Fredster]

Thanks, Sarah. I think that one DOES want to go somewhere. :)

[bearilou]

I stared at him. “There’s not supposed to be a plural of phoenix,” I told him. “There’s only supposed to be one at a time.”

He turned up the sincerity in his smile. “They’re very popular. Hours of entertainment. You can even set the rebirth cycle to suit your convenience.”

I shuddered. “No, thanks.”

“Are you sure? They’re solar-powered.”

“No.”

“I can offer gryphons and manticores. Or maybe a Vatican-endorsed unicorn? Guaranteed virgin-sensitive.”

I turned to go.

“We just got in a sphinx,” he called.

“I know the riddle already,” I said over my shoulder. What was the plural of sphinx supposed to be? Sphinices?



The whole exchange had me howling in laughter but this bit was just the icing on the cake.

I think this should go somewhere and then I want to know where and when so I may read the whole thing!

[CACTUSWENDY]

Every once in awhile when I'm not working on my WIP a paragraph will pop into my head about something farther down in the story. I hand write it out and keep it next to my computer and when it comes time for it in my story I plop it in. So far, they have been pretty neat.

[Sarah W]

Thanks, Fredster and Bearilou.

I wish Museland would stop lobbing this stuff at me when I already have two projects and a deadline . . .