The best way to write well is simply to write, write and write again. One practice exercise I have found particularly effective is to attempt to write a short story of a hundred words. This should help you become more precise and force you to consider your word choice in more detail. If you have trouble starting your stories simply ask a friend to give a random sentence and start the story from there. Here are some short stories I have attempted…
I felt a sharp sting in the back of my head. I had only just gotten the pen out when the whole sordid plan came, like a diamond bullet, to invade my brain. I would be gone by tomorrow morning, if I could stay in control, stop my mind from wandering. I paused for a second, the whole world froze, I noticed the calendar hanging on the fridge, the washing up I had meant to do before I went to bed, the swirls of varnish in the table. When your whole world collapses, you become an animal, rely on instincts, capture every moment, loose your ability to think; the bullet lodged in my cerebellum didn't help.
His retreat was a quick one. There wasn't much time to think about being naked only the possibility that he might be dead and naked in a few seconds made him run like a drug-addled steroid abusing athlete. All he could think of where those damn lips, soft, moist, to die for. Broken glass punctured his back as he skidded to the floor, he got back up running as fast as he could The blood from his back made him look like a comet yet still all he could think of was those damn lips. He could feel them tender to the touch, rubbing his bare skin. It had been risky, he almost got killed, and now all he could think of was a pair of luscious lips. He realized that sometimes he was just too horny for his own good.
You walk in the room, the naked young prostitute looks at you angrily, opens her mouth to swear then notices the magnum in your hand. Your target is sprawled on a mattress, soon to be stained with red. You calmly lift up the gun, aim it at his chest and laugh as six pieces of metal puncture his skin, showering the room with blood. She asked you “why?”. She spoke quietly and slowly as if on some shyness inducing drug. Your response to her was kind of juvenile you now realize… “your not from round here are you?” she blinked once and started to cry.
I was gob smacked, startled, shocked, frozen by what I had just seen. I have witnessed many strange things in my life but none quite like this. I went to India once and saw a monsoon ravage village upon village. I went to France and saw students throw paving stones at universities. I went to Florida to see a rocket commence its trajectory into space but nothing compares to what I saw, calmly sitting down in my living room enjoying my cup of coffee. My daughter, my American, Christian, educated daughter, went up to me and calmly, without even flinching said to me “thank you.”
My boss is fat, balding, with all the intelligence and mobility of the average foetus. As I walk down the corridor, briefcase in hand, I told my boss to go get f----ed. He responded by saying “thank you Joe, I do try my best”. People will always hear what they want to hear. Listening is a quality mankind has yet to develop. In any conversation, there are no listeners, there are only those talking and those thinking about what to say next. That's why I like writing so much, it saves a long wait.
