For those of you who don't know, or haven't surmised from their name, 100-word stories aim to tell a story or catch a moment in just one hundred words. I first learned to work on these in a beginning fiction writing class that I took, and after the few we did, I became obsessed. I spent 100 days where I wrote one 100-word story each day. And from it, I believe, my craft grew.
Here's why: 100-word stories force you to be concise—more concise than you've likely ever had to write before. In terms of writing, words are commerce, and to be able to use fewer of them to get across you're point, that's gold. Writing 100-word stories help you to learn to use every word to your greatest advantage. It teaches you to scrap what is bad, gratuitous, and even what is good, leaving in only the best to tell that which you want to convey.
Furthermore, it stretches your mind creatively. If you make a habit of writing these, no matter how frequently or infrequently, you'll have to open you creative well in a way that you haven't before. The more you write, the more new ideas you'll have to come up with of people, situations, and feelings that you want to show in the story. The fast-paced creation process of it is not only fun, but it helps rekindle your muse and your creativity in ways that working on a novel for long periods of time sometimes cannot.
In fact, if I ever find myself lacking ideas, or not writing anymore, I write 100-word stories. It throws me back into the thick of things, it gets me excited to write again, and they're quick. They lack commitment. They're much less daunting (albeit, editing these to be 100 words can be quite a task) and they're informative to your craft. It still feels productive, and you still get that creative rush after writing them, but because of their length, you're not pledging yourself to anything long and arduous.
And, the last reason I love them is because they can be anything. You can write them for any genre, for any person; the possibilities with them are limitless. You can experiment with ideas you've always had but never had the guts to commit to; you can dip your toe in genres you've always admired but never thought you could write; you could write the wildest, strangest tale you've dreamt up in just those 100 words. It's truly a beautiful thing to do.
Below are some of the stories I wrote over my 100 day challenge to myself.
Freedom
He walked cautiously, his eyes peeled and his heart pounding. The only sound in the streets besides the creaking of the winding trees were his footsteps against the damp and cracked sidewalk.
He wasn’t quite sure why, but he felt like he was waiting for someone, as if he was breaking rules. Like this couldn’t be allowed—like admonishment awaited him if he were caught.
The further he went, the more his mind wandered, getting lost in the rich landscape that lived inside of it, and slowly the stress uncurled itself from his chest.
Oh this freedom—it was a strange thing.
Unheard
Skidding. She was skidding out of control. The smell of rubber, heat rising in the front seat, and the screeching sounds of the tires on pavement.
And the fear that pounded in her chest. The fear that poisoned her body and shook her hands. She was turning the wheel like mad, trying to straighten her car out as the speedometer dropped too slowly.
The wall in front of her was fast approaching, a reminder of what awaited.
In her final moment, she moved her hands away from the wheel and looked up, breathing out her final, desperate words.
“I’m sorry.”
To Write
Her fingers sped across the keyboard in a frenzy.
She’d began with a promise—a promise to write down her thoughts. The thoughts that every day were so loud they were suffocating, demanding attention, squeezing out anything but those calamitous words that trammeled through her mind.
Yet as she wrote, her words turned to sentences, those sentences turning to paragraphs, those paragraphs transforming into pages. Slowly, the words, once so insignificant, became a breathing manifestation of her. Slowly, the stories she created breathed life back into a broken, scarred soul.
She paused, leaning back and smiling.
Yes—finally, her mind was silent.
Sharpen
The walls were chipping. I stood in the center of a mess, untouched from when I left it all those years ago.
Old clothes on one side, a dusty guitar laying in the corner, a stack of board games, the top one undisturbed from when I’d last played it. It all seemed fake.
Through the windows, golden shafts of sunlight filtered into the room, the colors reminding of the vibrancy that once was, juxtaposing the shell of a person I’d become. I sighed, the nugatory void I’d become now very apparent.
Oh, how the jaded world could change you.
Beautiful Anarchy
It was a spur of the moment decision.
It was a thing of beauty, and a thing of anarchy.
The engine revved, his hands sweating and his body buzzing at the adrenaline. More. He wanted more. The car moved faster, the lamp posts turning into exaggerated blurs as he sped across the vacant road. He’d never felt more alive.
And then he stopped. The world around him came back into focus. And he let out a breath.
What he’d done was reckless, mad even—but there was no denying it. With the unforbidden came an unparalleled thrill. And that—that was exhilarating.
