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Why Flash Fiction?

Photo of a kittywampus (kittywumpus) game
Flash fiction often relies on the odd and unexpected to jumpstart the story.
I’m doing my Flash Fiction workshop soon and so I’m prompted to talk about some of my motivation in giving the class and why I think it’s a useful one for writers.

What is flash fiction? As the name would imply, it’s short. Short, short, short. It’s sometimes called short-short stories for that reason. People define that length in varying numbers: the Florida Review used to award $100 and a crate of oranges to the winner of their short-short story competition, while 10 Flash Quarterly‘s editor/publisher K.C. Ball says it’s got to clock in at a 1000, and others have stretched it as far as 2000 words (which to my mind wanders into actual short story territory).

Others go much shorter, pointing to Hemingway’s famous six word story: “For sale: baby shoes, never used.” There’s twitter fiction magazines, like Thaumatrope, Nanoism, and 140 Characters (which last posted in March, alas). I actually fall in this camp, but to explain why, I need to explain the appeal that flash fiction holds for me.

Flash fiction is concentrated fiction, undiluted by digression or subplot. A flash story is an arrow thrilling in the reader’s heart, something that hits dead on. It uses the story structure in miniature and gets at the heart of what a story must do: something must change. In traditional stories, and in many of their flash counterparts, the change occurs in the main/viewpoint character. In the best ones, there is often an internal as well as external change: In conquering her fear of spiders, Polly defeats the Squids From Beyond. Because flash is short, often that’s not met and the change is one or the other. Other kinds of change might involve the setting, or some other major factor within the confines of the story.

But there is another kind of change that can occur, and that is in the reader, either emotionally or in terms of their expectations. That’s what happens in the Hemingway story. We begin with what is surely an exemplar of cuteness, because who doesn’t like baby shoes? And then we are abruptly moved away in the next two words – they’re for sale, we think, and immediately ask why? And then the hammer of tragedy: the shoes have never been used, and we supply the rest. Dead baby. Our understanding, our expectations, our emotions, all can be shifted by a piece of flash fiction. We are changed. Good fiction, or at least fiction that falls within a particular definition of “good”, changes us.

Not every flash piece does this. Flash lends itself well to humor, to the shaggy dog story, to the punchline at the end (another change in the reader, as we are moved from the expectant moment of story beginning to the ultimate laugh or groan) and it’s a good length for it. The longer the story gets, the better that punchline needs to be, or else a reader feels they’ve wasted their time. You’ll listen more readily to the office storyteller’s cleverly shaped anecdote than you will Kim from accounting, who can’t seem to stick to the point when she’s recounting the story of how the office copier got broken at the holiday party.

Sometimes flash fiction slides over into prose poetry territory. I’ll talk about that more some other time, particularly as the time approaches for the workshop I’m giving on literary and speculative fiction for Clarion West next spring.

At any rate, writing flash fiction is a useful exercise for writers. Anything that makes us practice writing is surely a good thing, and sitting down to write a flash piece fulfills that. Beyond that, it’s very satisfying to rise from the desk knowing you’ve written something in its entirety, as opposed to the tiresome nature of a novel, which swallows hours and hours of writing while swelling as slowly as ice accreting.

You can use flash to try out new techniques. One of the exercises I’m going to try tonight, in fact, draws on a piece I heard Gra Linnaea read at World Fantasy Con, written all in future tense, which I’m going to read to the class before challenging them to write their own pieces in future tense. Another draws on Randy Henderson’s most excellent THE MOST EPICLY AWESOMEST STORY! EVER!!, which I’ll use to challenge the class to think about bad writing vs. good.

Many new writers are hungry for publications, and writing flash is a good strategy for garnering some. Flash markets, by their nature, consume a lot of pieces, and where a market that publishes one story each month is buying only that one story, a flash market is buying a much larger number. Every Day Fiction, for example, runs a flash piece each day. The shorter a piece is, the easier it is on an editor’s budget.

Some resources for people who want to read flash: I used Sudden Fiction and Sudden Fiction International in a flash writing class I taught at Hopkins. For some terrific examples of the form, try Russell Edson’s work.

Enjoy this writing advice and want more like it? Check out the classes Cat gives via the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers, which offers both on-demand and live online writing classes for fantasy and science fiction writers from Cat and other authors, including Ann Leckie, Seanan McGuire, Fran Wilde and other talents! All classes include three free slots.

Prefer to opt for weekly interaction, advice, opportunities to ask questions, and access to the Chez Rambo Discord community and critique group? Check out Cat’s Patreon. Or sample her writing here.

4 Responses

  1. Thanks for posting this. I struggle to write anything under five thousand words at all, so hopefully the prompts in your other post and the examples linked to here will give me a feel for how it’s possible to convey a story in such a tight space.

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"(On the writing F&SF workshop) Wanted to crow and say thanks: the first story I wrote after taking your class was my very first sale. Coincidence? nah….thanks so much."

~K. Richardson

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Notes From Michael Stackpole's "How To Write a Novel in 21 Days"

Michael Stackpole
Michael Stackpole
These are my notes from the presentation at MidSouthCon 30, 2012m which was great. I suggest taking it from Michael rather than using these notes, which are a poor substitute at best. You can find the CD on his website. That said, here are the notes. I should say that they’re less about how to write a novel in 21 days than how to plan a novel in 21 days through a series of exercises intended to increase knowledge of character, world, and plot.

Overall
Writing is a skill – like any other skill, you get better and more efficient at it. Successful writers write steadily. Don’t worry about speed. Think of every word written down as one closer to your goal.

Writing is also a cyclical process. Ideas are generated and get fed back in. Don’t sweat the messiness as this process is underway because readers will never see anything but the final results. No first draft will be perfect.

Day One
Describe one character with 5-7 single sentences that each describe him/her/it in a specific area, such as their love life, education, current situation, occupation, hobbies, problems, etc.

Day Two
For each of your sentences, write two more sentences that each on it, creating a paragraph about each area of description.

Day Three
Write a single sentence about each life area that runs counter to the previous sentiment. For example, a paragraph about how the character really wants children might have a sentence about how they’re sterile. A paragraph about how they’re happily married might merit a sentence about feeling attracted to the new office manager at work.


Day Four
Write two more sentences expanding on each of the negative sentences from the previous day. You should end up with five (Michael said overachievers can go as high as seven) life areas with two paragraphs describing each. The discrepancy between the two paragraphs creates conflict, which is needed to create story.

Day Five
Repeat Days 1-4 for a second character, who doesn’t have to be involved with the first. They should be characters that interact in a story but are not protagonist and antagonist.

Day Six
For each character, think about short and long term life goals. Write down two short and one long for the character. Bonus points if some goals conflict. This part provides insight plus other stuff for the character to do.

Day Seven
Look at both characters and chart out the obstacles and fears in their life that keeps them from attaining their goals. These are problems you will have to engineer a way past.

Day Eight
Repeat steps 1-4, 6, & 7 for a third character. This lets you think about the characters in terms of a triad, rather than a pair. Interactions between pairs are predictable and low energy, so the new possibilities created by a third character help keep a story high energy.

Day Nine
This day’s devoted to developing a character’s voice. You want each character to have a unique voice. The more you know about a character, the easier it is to write, because some decisions have been made already. Write a letter (no minimum or maximum length) from one character to another doing one of the following: a) asking for help, b) warning them about something, c) apologizing, or 4) explaining something. The text of the note should demonstrate vulnerability on the part of the character writing it. Once it’s written, think about the physical appearance it will take when delivered to another character, which will provide additional insight.

Day Ten
Write a scene consisting of dialogue only (with no attributions) which is a conversation between the letter writer and its recipient. Because there are no attributions, you will need to make sure each character’s voice is differentiated enough that you can tell who’s speaking. Ways to do so: establish level of education, use jargon from their background or job, use verbal tics, etc. Make as long as appropriate, but should prbably be at least a page.

Day Eleven
Revisit the scene where the previous day’s dialogue takes place and write it from the point of view of a third character who can see what the people speaking to each other are doing, but cannot hear what they are doing. The intent is to achieve better-nuanced dialogue, and to move towards showing, rather than tellings, which makes a reader think for themself, thus engaging them, rather than spoon-feeding them facts.

Day Twelve
Now we’re starting on world and setting. Think about what roots these characters in the world? What is in the character is a reflection of the world they grew up in. You may end up adjusting the original profiles at this point. That’s okay. Do this for each character.

Day Thirteen
Think about how the world helps or hinders each character’s achievement of their goals. Is this a friendly nurturing world or a harsh one? The world’s tone determines how hard characters will have to work to achieve their goals.

Day Fourteen
Ask what happens to the world if the characters succeed in attaining their life goals? How would it change? Ask the same question about what happens if they fail. This tells you how strongly the world will resist what they’re doing. Ask – how logical is it for the world to notice what the character is doing and push back?

Day Fifteen
Write a brief scene for each character. Pick one of the following: 1) describe that character’s sanctuary/happy place/safe haven. Where are they most at home? Describe through the character’s eyes. Do this for each character. 2) Take a place where all the characters will be at the same time. Look at the details of the surrounging and see what each of them think of it. Then describe the place from all three characters’ points of view.

Day Sixteen
Now for structure and plotting, which is the toughest part. Write the back cover blurb for the novel (six sentences at most) and the one line description. This will help you figure out the core conflicts, which are the ones that should appear in this.

Day Seventeen
This is the toughest day. For every problem, understand the conflict and its resolution. Figure out the scenes necessary to show each. Most (many) will require the following: 1) a scene that shows there is a problem, which the character may or may not be aware of, 2) a scene that shows where the character realizes there is a problem, 3) a scene that gives your character a reason to want to solve that problem, 4) a scene or series of scenes showing the development of skills and resources necessary to solve the problem, 5) scene that shows the success of failure of this effort. Your’re creating 6-12 scenes for each problem and accumulating an inventory of scenes.

Day Eighteen
Now it’s time to arrange those scenes against the world timeline. Think of the world as another character and go through your scenes looking to see which create an event that would be noticed by the outside world. These events are fixed points in time. After you’ve done this for all the characters, look to see where events are taking place at the same time and might be combined in a single scene. Think of events as though you have to build sets for each and, much as they do in TV, be efficient and shoot as much footage in each point as you can, rather than having to redescribe and re-set the scene somewhere else.

Day Nineteen
Look at events and scenes and decide whether or not you need to add any scenes where characters react to events. If so, does the new scene create a new event that other characters might need to react to? You may have to go through several iterations of the Day 17-18-19 cycle, because this is how you pull the nobel together and make it live outside the characters.

Day Twenty
Each character should have an inventory of a dozen or so scenes that they’re in. Slot scenes into their chronological order, and bingo, you’ve generated an outline. An outline is to a novel as a map is to a really good road trip – as you write, you will discover new things to explore.

Day Twenty-one
Start writing! Don’t edit as you go, make a note if there’s a needed change, and save that for the editing process.

There you go!

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Explaining Things In Fiction

Image of a sledgehammer
Sometimes what feels like a sledgehammer blow of information to the writer may be just a gentle tap for the reader.
One of the things we spend some time on in the Writing F&SF class is how to explain things to the reader. As part of this, I usually give them the Expository Lump exercise from Ursula LeGuin’s excellent book on writing, Steering the Craft.

Many of us know the term “infodump,” where a whooooole bunch of information necessary for understanding the story gets thrown at the reader, sometimes in the form of dialogue, sometimes outright chunks of books, or some other form. We want to avoid these because they’re usually dry and a little boring, and because they put readers off.

But at the same time, there is information we -need- for readers to know. And sometimes we may not realize it. If we don’t give it, then events may seem unlikely or heavy-handed or even incomprehensible.

I’ve been reworking a novel for the final time, and one thing I’ve realized in doing it is that the progression of scenes in the last section is not clear. I needed to spend more time being clear that the characters were moving from one place to another so readers could understand where they ended up. And I’d been coy about it, to the point where the reader just wasn’t getting that information.

This is where getting someone else to read a piece is crucial. Because that progression is so clear in the writer’s head that we cannot perceive what’s missing for the reader. One of the most important questions you can ask a reader is “What questions did this leave you with?” or “What didn’t you understand?” Because it’s just as easy to be too subtle — perhaps even easier — than to be overt, since what feels very obvious to you may not be a fraction as apparent to your reader.

And holy cow, how is it that in this version, which I had sent out to my agent already, that I found this on one page: “(insert description later)”? ARGH.

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