“She looked at him and smiled…”

I’ve always loved that sentence. Simple, and yet full of so many possibilities. It’s immediate, but at the same time mysterious. Dropped straight into the middle of the scene you have no idea who they are, what has provoked the smile, and what the outcome of it might be. And so as the reader you have no other choice, you have to read on.

Two children and several jobs ago I wrote a novel, and for a long time I wanted to end it with that line. In the context of the story it bought a level of closure to all that went before, and ended the book on a positive and fulfilling note. The boy got the girl (at least for a time) and the world was a good place (also at least for a time). A Hollywood ending, albeit one set in autumnal England.

In the end I decided on a more ambiguous and enigmatic conclusion to the story (at least that’s what I told myself). But that line still niggled. I’d saved it up for so long that after taking it out of it’s wrapper, chewing it over and over only to wind up spitting it out, it felt like a waste. And so it stayed with me, stuck to the bottom of my shoe. That’s where it remained ever since.

Over the subsequent years I imagined where that line might have gone so many times. On many a long, dark drive I’ve taken those six words as a springboard, diving into my imagination before swimming home in an ocean of scenarios. The possibilities seemed endless.

The Guilt of Lockdown

When the first COVID lockdown ended I felt guilty. I was furloughed for six months, had a lot of time to play with, and I don’t think that I spent it particularly well. Sure I got a bit fitter, I spent some great (and not so great) time with the family, and ploughed through that pile of books that I’d never got around to reading. But I didn’t actually create anything.

Second lockdown I was working away a lot and so time really was at a premium, but third time around was different. This time I hit on the idea of killing two birds with one stone; confined to barracks I’d put my spare time to good use, and I’d finally get to peel that discarded line from the sole of my boot.

So what’s the idea?

There are just two rules;

1. Every piece of writing must start with the same structure;

“[Pronoun] looked at [pronoun] and [verb]…”

= P L AT P A V (geddit?)

(You may be wondering, ‘Why not just start with, “She looked at him and smiled”? Well, although I think it would be more than possible to keep this going for years, in the interest of variety and inclusivity I think the first two variables should be kept relatively open.)

2. Each piece of writing must be no longer than 750 words.

Okay, if you really want to then you can use this as a platform to write that magnum opus that you’ve got kettled up inside you, but the idea is that these stories are meant to be easily consumable. These are chocolate digestive stories to go with the mid-morning beverage of your choice.

And that’s it. Working within these simple parameters the challenge is to create a library of short stories that elicit some kind of reaction or emotion. It’s a place for me to exorcise a demon and hopefully also a place where anyone can have some fun too.

Now, let’s see where we go!

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