As stated earlier, I've been wanting to write some short stories on random topics to help practice and fine tune my writing. I've studied stories from Poe to Richard Matheson (Terror at 20,000 Feet, and I Am Legend) to various others, looking for varied approaches and such.

Given the break-neck pace at which the story "E. B. Samuelson" came to me - virtually dictating itself to me - I think I got a little spoiled by the experience. I guess I was hoping that that would continue to happen with other stories. After all, that one just came to me out of the blue and literally came word for word as I was waking up one morning.

But, such was not to prove to be the ongoing case.

It had been several weeks, and no inspiration had come. I had some ideas, sure, but nothing was clicking and I couldn't get interested enough to actually sit down and type up any of them.

Then, last Saturday, I was sitting with my son listening to President Monson's talk during Priesthood Session. I've heard it said that during church you should make note of the thoughts you get, even if they aren't related to what is being said, because it might be inspiration for something important in your life.

Well, I'm not sure how "important" a short story is, but I certain had some interesting thoughts pop into my mind that had NOTHING to do with the talk (that I at least thought I was paying attention to, up until then).

The first one that hit me with the vapid permanence of a dream. All I remember is it had something to do with a guy managing to get out of a plane that has crashed in the ocean, and that he's the only one in a life raft and he's able to see the lights of the plane sink away into the murky depths.

The second one really stuck with me though. It was of a guy on a mountain path who is lying on his stomach reaching over the edge of a cliff. In his one hand is his wife. In his other is his teenage daughter. He's desperately trying to pull them up to safety, but doesn't have the strength. He gets to the point where he has to choose which one he will save. He's going to have to let go of one so he can use both hands to rescue the other, and making the choice is KILLING him.

What a terrible predicament!

I jotted down a key paragraph that night. I was hoping for another flooding of inspiration moment, but it didn't happen. Cool plot. No story. Monday I added a sentence or two for another portion of the story.

I was still questioning pieces of the plot. Why were they there? How did they fall? How did he get himself into a state where he's holding both? Will I need some "filler" information to make the story long enough to be worth reading? Will that filler info be background info on why they all care so much for each other, etc.?

Nothing on Tuesday.

Wednesday, I decided to just start writing. I was shooting for a 3-pager.

Rather than leading up to the fall, I started with him hanging over the edge with his girls clinging to him. I pictured it all in my mind, slowly, trying to envision what was going on in everyone's mind. Trying to decide on and describe what all would be tried or happening.

It was a pretty tense situation. The palms of my hands were starting to sweat as I wrote - and empathized with them.

Just before midnight, I finished the first draft. Seven pages. My heart was pounding having "experienced" the whole scenario over the past couple of hours. I was pacing with energy. It was a great feeling to get the story out in completeness and see it through.

I had Teresa read it right then. She normally would have zonked out after about half a page at that time of night, but she zipped right through it. It's probably the best page-turner I've written to date.

I titled it, "30 Seconds" because that's about how long the story lasts in real time.

Read the original "Lines of our Times" post here.