K.R. Stevens
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The Concept Study, The Unsung Hero of Wr ...

The Concept Study, The Unsung Hero of Writing

Dec 09, 2022

Got a little treat here for you. As writers, we often only show finished pieces, or at least more complete, more refined versions of our work. Even what we submit to editors has usually been combed through countless times trying to iron out kinks, tone, and consistency. It's rare to see early concept explorations, sort of like how artists do study sketches.

You might be surprised to see how many started, or exploratory versions writers make of a work before they dial in what they are looking for in a piece. Some writers delete these, but I keep pretty much everything. In my mind, they can serve as pretty valuable reference points, or fun reads later on.

Well, today I have a one of these Concept Drafts. These typically take the shape of a scene, or a certain feeling for a character. Many of the ones that I write are fragments that explore a certain idea.

So here is the earliest piece I have that explores the idea of Tachibanaya, the mystical, probably haunted interdimensional coffee shop that somehow finds its way into every story I have. While this bit doesn't capture the shop itself, it does capture the kind of tone that would become signature to Tachibanaya, and the way that people come to find it. Or rather, how the shop finds you.

Without further ado, check this out. Let me know what you think in the comments or social media. Would you want to see more of these?


The night was dark and stormy…. No.

Once upon a time there was… No.

In a land far away, below dark clouds… No.

The rain was relentless that night… No.

Abigail Emma Hawkins sat on a small bench on the deck of the Nora’s Grace ocean liner, fixated on the screen of her Gatesoft Facet tablet computer. For the past two hours… well, more like the past three years, she had been trying to write the story that had been floating somewhere up in the chambers of her mind. Any and every start she could come up with was not only worse than the previous one, but further alienated her from the prospect of writing altogether.

She laid the computer in her lap. Running her slender fingers through her long auburn hair, she began to weave together a loose braid. Gentle liquid gold and pink waves rose and fell as the sun rose above the waters of the eastern horizon. A small gust tossed her hair about, making her job harder. In frustration, she let the silky strands go, and was about to rise from her seat when she was abruptly interrupted.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” a light, almost sing-song feminine voice asked to her right.

Abby jumped in surprise, having not noticed her company, and turned to meet the newcomer. “No, I can’t say I…” and then she saw the other. She was a tall woman, thin and pale… too pale. In addition, she seemed to float upon the cherry wood deck below, because she did, nearly half a foot. From her hollow black eyes streamed tears of blood that stained her translucent face. Her body seemed out of focus, as if it were a collection of mist. “do.”

The ghost erupted with emotion, cracking a smile no human face could form. “By the gods! You can hear me?”

Abby tried to stitch together a response, but found her (horror? No, but she was afraid. Perhaps astonishment? It hardly sufficed for the gravity of feeling that had seized her mind, but it would have to serve) astonishment had nullified her capacity for rational thought.

“You can see me too, can’t you? Oh, thank the gods! You have to tell me, am I still pretty? I haven’t been able to look in a mirror since I died!” color seemed to flush into the ghost’s translucent skin, painting a blonde-haired, lightly tanned, and blue-eyed woman who could have easily have been a model or an actress… save for the fact that she was dead.

“Of course, you are very pretty, more pretty than I am, for sure.”

The ghost smirked and struck a dramatic pose, one side of her face hidden behind the long, soft blonde curls atop her head. “Oh, but of course. When I was alive, I was beauty itself. All the girls wanted to be me, all the guys wanted to do me.” She leaned in close, and spoke in a half whisper, “And let me tell you, sister, a lot of them did. There was this one Brazilian guy, you can’t believe what he could do with his…” the ghost cut herself off. Perhaps she had noticed Abby’s extreme desire not to hear any further.

The ghost backed up a bit, to Abigail’s relief. The color in the woman’s face seemed to dull a little. “Well, at any rate, I’m just happy I have someone new to talk to. Most of the chums like me are not exactly what you would call conversant. There was this one old gas bag in Denver who just would not stop screaming.”

She threw her hands in the air, as if to gesture the volume. “And, sister, I mean screaming! It was totally bonkers. The only thing I could get out of him was, ‘Ahhhhh!’ Pure insanity.” She shrugged. “But, hey, at least he was speaking. Most of the creeps I have met won’t even say anything, or can’t. I don’t really know which.”

--

Thank You!

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