Welcome to the time I wrote two stories in twelve hours: Superheroes Anonymous and Good Kitty.
This timing isn’t unheard of; sometimes ideas start flooding in for me all at once…something about unlatching the door to the Imagination Cupboard and seeing what’s been accumulating inside. What is unusual for me is having no other option but to write two stories in 12 hours.
When the pressure is on, suddenly that cupboard latch starts to feel more like a well-loved toothpaste tube that you’re fighting to squeeze the last amount out of.
This is the position I found myself in when I entered the final round of the NYC Midnight 250-Word Microfiction Challenge writing contest (contest results are currently pending).
The way the contest works is: you receive a prompt at 11:59 PM containing a required genre, action, and word. You then have 24 hours to write a 250-word (maximum) short story incorporating all three.
5,400+ people entered the competition back in October and I am one of only 125 writers who qualified to move on to compete in the final round, so the pressure was on.
This round was a rough one. When I first received my prompt, which was
Genre: Open
Action: Collapsing
Word: Stain
I found the openness paralyzing and that surprised me. When everyone is given the same difficult prompt, they begin the contest round in the same position: constricted. In contrast, having an open genre prompt meant that the talented writers I was competing against were able to cater to their strengths.
I had a feeling that a lot of intense, vulnerable, personal entries were incoming, and automatically assumed that those would rise to the top. But all I wanted to write was comedy.
I kept thinking "Superheroes," and picturing an A.A.-style group where superheroes go to anonymously get support from other superheroes—a “Superheroes Anonymous.”
I spent about 30 minutes in an idea-fest frenzy and came out of it with a story I liked, but knew I could never turn in.
Superheroes Anonymous
“Hello, and welcome to Supers Anonymous, where we help each other recover from the trauma of being Overpowered Beings.”
Anthony, an apartment building superintendent, shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Contrary to what he had believed upon seeing the sign, he would not find himself in the warm bosom of like-minded brethren, swapping horror stories about clogged toilets and nightmare tenants.
A man wearing comically-large oven mitts stands up. “Hi, I’m Mega Mitts, and this morning a tenant of mine clogged up her toilet like she was angry at it.”
Huh. Or maybe I will.
Mega Mitts smashes his oven mitts together and his face grows red as his voice rises in volume. “So I told her that I didn’t have the dexterity necessary to perform any plumbing miracles, and then she accused me of faking my superpower and just wearing large oven mitts that I ordered online.”
Mega Mitts’ voice reaches a crescendo, shaking the room and cracking a window. Multiple superheroes look sympathetic. One woman in a bright turquoise catsuit offers a tissue to a sniffling turquoise cat sitting beside her.
Mega Mitts takes a calming breath and continues. “So, I took off my protective oven mitts, and showed her my Fists of Destruction. She laughed, told me that I needed a manicure, and didn’t care when I said that it was hard to keep your nail beds healthy when your evil sentient fists start indiscriminately punching things whenever you take your mitts off.”
He rubs his head sheepishly. “Anyway, then my fists took over. I blinked, and my tenant had become a bloodstain on the floor.” A sniffle. Then a sob. “The worst part is…I didn’t even update my Superheroes’ Insurance, so I’ll have to pay for the entire lawsuit out of pocket!”
The man sitting to Anthony’s left screams in horror, and collapses into a puddle of quivering goo on the floor.
Mega Mitts nods vigorously. “And to top it all off…my mother in law is coming to visit this weekend!”
The room shakes and creaks as 19 superheroes and one apartment superintendent all grown in sympathetic unison.
I had fun writing this initial story, but if I wanted to try and win the contest, I needed a story with
A clear beginning, middle, and end
A protagonist for us to relate to and follow—which would in turn require me to
Introduce them
Establish why or how they were in whatever situation we found them in
Introduce a goal or goals that they would either succeed or fail to achieve
A lot of descriptive language to help bring an unfamiliar reality to life and make it feel real and lived in.
…none of which lend themselves well to a tiny, 250-word (maximum) frame.
I needed to start over from scratch, with an entirely new idea, in order to create a entry that would fit within the contest parameters. Problem was: nothing was coming to me.
This is probably a good time to mention that I was sick and falling asleep on my feet. It was one of those days where your body takes the reins and says “I’m the captain, now.”
I set my alarm clock to go off four hours before the contest deadline, and gave up on consciousness. Four hours may sound like an unreasonably small amount of time, but considering that “Superheroes Anonymous” took me about 30 minutes to write, and the previous contest rounds had taken me anywhere from one to three hours to complete, four hours didn’t feel outside of the realm of possibility.
The hope was that I would use that time to either sort my way through my writer’s block, or to adapt “Superheroes Anonymous” into an entry that fulfilled all of the above requirements, while being under 250 words.
I woke up feeling about as inspired as a bucket of tepid water (that is to say: not inspired at all), and immediately felt the stress settle in.
It wasn’t until around 9:30 PM that an idea I liked finally arrived, burrowing into my brain with a warm sigh. This story—also superhero-themed—was easier for me to see in full, but the writing—oof. It was like trying to move through waist-deep molasses.
All of a sudden, I was agonizing over every line, trying to predict word count and fix it ahead of time. This is the period of the evening where I was reminded of the difference between happening to finish a story within one to two-ish hours, and needing to finish a story within one to two-ish hours.
The difference is, uh, unpleasant. And I was in the thick of it.
I wound up finishing just under the wire and came out of it with “Good Kitty,” a story that fulfills all contest requirements and takes place in another universe that I also look forward to expanding and exploring.
Overall an incredibly-productive, ROUGH day that I would do all over again (and probably will).
Here is the final entry!
Good Kitty
Lucinda stretches, luxuriating in the heat rising up from the volcanic lair’s floor.
Life as a super-villain’s beloved cat is good: treats and snuggles flow freely, and Lucinda gets to menacingly purr from the cradle of her mistress’ arms during big speeches.
A caped figure bursts from the ceiling and strikes a pose. “Behold! It is I, Dramatic Man! Here to cleanse the Earth of the stain of villainy!”
Lucinda raises a furry eyebrow and flicks her tail, unimpressed.
Dramatic Man spots Lucinda and sneers. “Shouldn’t you be pure white, like Dr. Doom’s cat? What are you—dirt brown?”
The insolence! Lucinda is glorious. Majestic. Stealth incarnate. She is the whisper upon the wind. The shadow in the corner of your eye.
This bumbling fool has turned from an inconvenience into an enemy and sealed his fate.
Lucinda stalks over to the control panel and hops up.
High-fiving himself in mid-air, Dramatic Man calls out. “Hey cat, when I defeat your mistress, you’re going to be homeless. They’ll put you in a shelter filled with fleas!”
I’ll show you fleas, Lucinda thinks, and puts all of her weight on a blue button.
The floor underneath Dramatic Man collapses, dragging him and his stupid cape down to the dungeon with the rest of the failed “heroes” who had come before him.
It is blissfully silent once more.
Pleased, Lucinda begins to dutifully wash her paw. It’s important to look your best when fulfilling your life’s purpose, after all.