What is Writer in Motion? See my Week 0 post. 
What did this story look like when I gave up and posted for Week 1 rough draft? You can read my initial draft at my week 1 post.

Normally, I'd leave a short story at least one week, often much longer, before re-reading it and doing some self-edits. Since it took me to the very last minute to finish my initial draft, and there are deadlines for posting, I didn't have that luxury for this story.

Another stumbling block I've encountered with this story has enlightened me on my writing habits. I often have stories that crop up in my brain and need to be told and I pour them onto the paper (or into the digital Word file as it were.) Sometimes, I use a prompt and it takes me a couple sentences or a minute of thinking, and then the story just flows. And while I don't usually know the end until 40% of the way into the story (which is also when I discover how long the story will be prior to revisions), I always know where the story was going.

Dear Reader, I did not know where this story was going. I never have had such a hard time writing a story. I mentioned last week I would never have bothered to "finish" the draft if I weren't signed up for Writer in Motion. When I looked at the image, I had ideas. I had so many ideas. And all those lovely ideas got me into trouble. Because I didn't let the story simmer long enough and/or I didn't have the appropriate length of time of a deadline. I often will give myself 10 minutes or 30 minutes to write a story based off a prompt. And the furiosity of that writing may lead to giving myself a little more time to finish it. Instead I spent the week trying things and really nothing worked.

What all that comes down to: I had a lot to self-edit.

I started with a 647 word story. I was trying to push to that 1000 word goal. Our stories are supposed to be under 1000 words at the end of this week, or as of this posting. That was clearly not my problem. However, I worried that having too short of a story would also be a problem. The pushing towards the required word count, rather than let the story be whatever word count it wanted, created problems. I kept trying to add in conflicting ideas. I had no clear goal. I kept changing the relationship of the two characters.

Going into edits, I planned to remove the chorus, focus the story, get to a point of conflict and resolution (that didn't exist before) and clean up the copy.

On the 20th, I felt I'd waited as long as I could or I wouldn't have any edits to put forth. I opened my doc, created a week 2 doc, read through, tried to remove the chorus and found the story lost the little bit I liked about it, put the chorus back in, and closed the doc.

I opened the document back up again yesterday. I deleted 279 words, bringing the story down to 367. There was even less story, but I liked it better. I had shaved off all the competing ideas. I worked hard to keep the line that got some positive feedback, scrapping the line about being made of photons, which hurt my scientist's heart. 

I self-edit all short stories with the single thought: what change does my protagonist go through, ie. a protagonist must change in order for it to be a short story. For this story, I actually want the problem my protagonist starts with to be the problem they end with, and the change needed to be that they now accepted themself with this problem. So the conflict became how do they go from wanting to change themselves to accepting this about themselves?

I am made of smoke and dreams and things you don’t want to see in the mirror. I am feared, but I am not the one to be scared of. I live in the country of shadow.

There is one made of smoke and nightmares and the stories you tell yourself in the dark. Those stories, and his embodiment, feed fear.

He is my downfall and my salvation.

I met him, the one of smoke, when I lived in the country of light. I told myself stories, because even the light has darkness.

The shadows were a refuge for me. I was never good enough for the light. The beings there are made of hope and dreams and the things that bring you joy.

Those who live in the country of light make mistakes and learn from them. I make mistakes, and they multiply. The beings of light give me grace. I will understand and be better, eventually, they believe.

But I commit my mistakes again and again. I try to learn and understand. I do. But the mistakes follow me like a trail of ants, crawling up and down my body.

That’s how he found me. Shivering in the shadows, wallowing in my mistakes, playing them over in my mind. Looking for the lessons they contain. Trying to be better. Failing.

I was young then. He appeared next to me. Like smoke out of nowhere. I never saw his face, which remained as smoke though he took a man’s form otherwise.

He told me stories, for he is made of them. Within those stories he pledged to help me.

He promised.

I left the country of light to remove the mistakes, to flick them off. To be who the one of smoke and nightmares says I can be. To live up to the beliefs of the inhabitants of the country of light.

​The light still burns inside me. Both worlds entwine within and so I am made of smoke and dreams.

Perhaps it is because I am made of dreams my mistakes weigh heavier upon me. I accompany the one of nightmares, listening to his stories. He never speaks directly. He recounts fables. He describes the nightmares he witnesses. He repeats the stories whispered in the dark.

Sometimes he is the smoke from a cigarette, sometimes the vapor out of the sewar, or the fog you don’t see until you turn your headlights on. I mimic his forms.

My time with him is endless. He is old, so old he is unaffected by my youth. And in time, it is apparent I am always formed of mistakes. My own will not leave me and the mistakes of others cling to me, like dirt from the road that works its way into crevices and becomes a part of you. I am the mistakes you do not want to see in the mirror.

​I am never alone now. Those who wish to leave their mistakes behind fling them onto me. They leave, and I carry the parts of themselves they do not wish to see. I no longer tell stories in the dark. Instead I listen, and watch for my old friend – the one made of smoke and nightmares and stories.

Visit the #WriterinMotion hashtag on Twitter or the Writer in Motion Week 2 blog post where participants post links to their blogs.

 ​The prompt was revealed on July 9.

On July 10, I wrote 24 words: "I am made of smoke and dreams and things you don’t want to see in the mirror.I live in the country of shadow."

After a particularly frustrating day job work day, on July 14, I wrote more words, ending my evening with 487. I still wasn't sure my plot, but the repeating I miss you. I love you. Let me go.​ introduced itself.​

​Of course, once I called it for the night, I went to bed and immediately came up with more of the story. First thing the next morning, I wrote more, filling out a bit more.

Today's draft is not a finished draft, and it is very, very rough. It is 654 words. It is both too short and too long. 
​
Normally, I wait a week before editing shorts. I won't have that time. I have some tense issues. I already see things I wish to cut, the chorus for one. And I need to fill the story out quite a bit, to edge closer to the 1000 word limit and to round it out for the reader.

I am made of smoke and dreams and things you don’t want to see in the mirror. I am feared, but I am not the one to be scared of. I live in the country of shadow.

There are many of us. There is a man – well, we’ll call him a man – who is made of smoke and nightmares and the stories you tell yourself in the dark. Those stories, and his embodiment, feed fear.

He is my downfall and my salvation.

I miss you. I love you. Let me go.

I met him, the man of smoke, when I lived in the country of light. I told myself stories, because even the light has shadows.

The shadows were a refuge for me. I was never good enough for the light. The beings there were good and pure. They made mistakes and then learned from them.

I made mistakes, and they multiplied. The beings of light gave me grace. I would learn, eventually, they believed.

In the shadows, I knew my mistakes were mistakes that I would commit again and again. I tried to learn. I did. But the mistakes followed me like a trail of ants, crawling up and down my body.

That’s how he found me. Shivering in the shadows, wallowing in my mistakes, playing them over in my mind. Trying to learn from them. Failing.

I miss you. I love you. Let me go.

I was a child then. He appeared next to me. Like smoke out of nowhere. There he was, sitting next to me. I never saw his face, which remained as smoke though he took a man’s form otherwise. He wore a black hoodie, and jeans.  I pulled my photons in to mimic his form, hardening my waves into particles – the ones I could.

“Do not fear your mistakes, Little One. You will learn.” He promised.

He promised.

He keeps his promises. I learned. I learned from my mistakes. It took years. We aren’t human, those of us who live in the countries of light and shadows. In case you didn’t catch that. But we still start somewhere. And end somewhere, even if that ending is far, far away and timeless.

I miss you. I love you. Let me go.

He did not teach me anything. He sat with me on occasion. He called me Little One, his only name for me.
Time is meaningless in the countries of light and shadow. There is always light. There is always dark.
But the time came that the largest cloud appeared in the sky. “Little One,” it called me, for that was the only name I knew. “You have become a being of shadows and no longer light.”

So I was cast out of the light, into the welcoming arms of the country of shadows. The light still burns inside me. Both worlds entwine within and so I am made of smoke and dreams.

The man was often alone. He joined me when I was alone in the shadows, telling stories in the dark. We sat together the same as we did the first time. Over and over.

I tried to be one of them, fellow beings of shadow. I tried as hard with them as I tried to learn from my mistakes. But I still wasn’t right there. Over time, the man made of smoke and nightmares sought me less. Until he never came. Until he turned me out.

“Little One, you have done well here. We welcomed you, but you are still not one of us. You can no longer live here amongst the shadows.”

Now I live in neither country light and shadow, made of both smoke and light. It has been isolating. Lonely.  

I miss you. I love you. Let me go.

​That is how I became made of the things you do not want to see in the mirror.

After posting, I edited to add the prompt image and some links.

Adding these more thoughts, just for transparency. I would never post or submit this story. In fact, this story fought me so much, if it weren't for this program, I would not have written it. The story feels too influenced from others, despite me trying not to read other people's responses to the prompt. 

I learned about Writer in Motion from Erin Fulmer. Here's her unedited first draft. 
Keir Alekseii livestreamed her writing, which is a cool idea. View the video and result here. 
Mel Grebing was inspired by the prompt and posted their story as well.

Enjoying all these stories? View all the participants at Writer in Motion Week 1: The Messy First Draft.

This week's short fiction round-up includes seven stories published between 2007 and June 2021. There are a higher number of literary stories than usual. While my "home" genre is adult SFF, I enjoy literary fiction quite a bit as well. I hope you enjoy these stories.

Prow by Claudia Smith was published by Smokelong Quarterly in June 2007.

CRAFT published In Just Thirty Minutes by Jemimah Wei in June. 

Based on the enthusiasm author Erin Fulmer showed for the Writer in Motion project, I joined up during their registration period. 
What is Writer in Motion? It's an opportunity to participate in short story creation and share your journey from draft to polished story via your writer's blog and the Writer in Motion forum. Additionally, the writer is matched up with critique partners (CP) and potentially a professional editor. 
Updates will be given weekly per the Writer in Motion timeline.

Watch my Twitter, check back here, or subscribe to my Newsletter to get regular updates or the summary after all is said and done.

Seven more awesome stories this week.
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Lesser Things by E.J. Sidle was published by Fireside Fiction in April. At 2823 words, it is approximately a 14-minute read.