Flash Fiction Chronicles

Let me start by saying that I do not believe in writers’ block. One of my first writing teachers gave me this brilliant piece of advice: “Writers’ block is not the feeling that you have nothing to write. It is the feeling that everything you write will be complete and utter shit. You have to give yourself permission to write some shit.” When my students come to me and tell me that they’re blocked, I pass on this advice. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes not. It is in these moments that I unleash the wisdom of self-hypnosis.

If you want to be a writer, half the battle is learning about your process and then exploiting that knowledge. I tend to work best when I have limited time. If I have the whole day to write, I feel too much pressure to use it all and end up doing nothing. But, if I only have forty-five minutes before I have to go to a meeting, I can almost always bang out 500 words. Now that I’m on fellowship and I have all the time in the world to write, I knew I was in danger of suffocating under all those hours. So I’ve built myself a limit. I go to my office from 12-2 every day and that’s when I write. It works great for me. And, on the occasions when I get swept up in what I’m doing, I write all night long.

Routine is a key part of self-hypnosis. Now, after several months of this routine, when I get into my office at 12, sit at my desk, and open my document, the words just come. This is because I’ve told my brain, “When I get in here, it’s time to work,” just like you tell your body, “When I get in bed, it’s time to sleep.” If you can’t write at the same time every day, try writing in the same place. If that’s not possible, there are other ways to trigger self-hypnosis. You can try always writing in the same sweatshirt or using a travel size bottle of perfume or cologne to create an olfactory trigger wherever you are. Some writers pair music with specific projects, switching from one playlist to another when they’re working on a story vs. a novel.

It also helps to keep track of your weird compulsions and use them to your advantage. For example, I have terrible vision, so I always set my screen to 166% zoom when I’m writing. But when I’m reading student work, I don’t do this. This way, just by looking different, my word documents themselves help trigger my productivity. Some writers only write on legal pads, or with certain pens, or while they’re drinking tea, or when they’re barefoot. Find whatever strange thing you’re already doing and make it work for you.

If this all sounds a little weird, that’s because it is. It totally is. But it also really works, especially if you often find yourself feeling blocked. If you have an example of self-hypnosis that works for you, leave it in the comments! Maybe it’ll help somebody else, too.

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Aubrey Hirsch’s work has appeared in journals such as Hobart, Third Coast, SmokeLong Quarterly, The Los Angeles Review, Annalemma and The Minnetonka Review, and in the forthcoming anthology Pittsburgh Noir (Akashic Books). Her stories have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Micro Award and honored on the short list of Glimmer Train’s Fiction Open. She currently serves as the Daehler Fellow in Creative Writing at Colorado College.

To read some of Aubrey’s current work, check out her stories in Vestal and SmokeLong as well as  in Metazen’s charity e-book. You can find her online here.

Any writer who has ever critiqued another writer’s work will be familiar with that awful sensation when a well-intentioned critique causes offence and results in bad-blood. Such exchanges are inevitable whenever honest opinion is sought or given, especially where the opinion surprises the recipient. However, if you accept the premise that the purpose of critique is to develop a writer’s skills, it is precisely those surprises that are potentially the most valuable.

I was genuinely stunned by the negative reaction of female readers to one of my male characters; I meant to show a man nervously preparing for a big meeting whereas the majority of female readers saw a distant father ignoring his children. Without that feedback, I would have finished my novel draft unaware that it alienated a substantial portion of my potential readership. Instead, I learned about readers’ different perspectives and the importance of detail. That’s in addition to the side benefit of rewriting a main character and plotline more carefully.

Despite the value of those surprises, it is tough to create a safe environment for both the writer and the reviewer – both are taking a risk in presenting their ideas. This is why so many established critique groups have a firmly ingrained etiquette. For example, in the group I host at http://www.writewords.org.uk almost every critique includes some variation on the statement: “This is just my opinion, take what you find useful and ignore the rest.”

Etiquette, however, is only part of the solution. Someone who is either unsure of their ability or who is writing purely for the pleasure of using words is unlikely to thank you for a robust critique aimed at pushing a piece to publication quality. Equally, someone who is confident of his skills and actively seeking publication is unlikely to value a critique that says simply “I enjoyed this” (though it is nice to know when you get things right, too). Fortunately, responsibility for this is in the hands of the writer when he chooses to participate in a given group.

With good etiquette in place and all parties matched for level and ambition, the next problem is critique philosophy. Before I continue, I should lay my cards on the table; I am serious about publication and serious about improving. My group is called “Intensive Critique” and its clearly-stated mission is to provide honest, considered and detailed critique. It attracts good writers who are also serious about publication. My critique philosophy is in line with that and, as such, I would like to challenge some myths about what is and is not good critique.

Myth 1: Good critique is always encouraging

A writer should not be put off when a few paragraphs don’t work for a reader. It is more valuable to state clearly, with reasons and examples, when something doesn’t work than to bolster the ego of a writer who is already confident of their skills.

Myth 2: You cannot critique in a genre you don’t read

Critique is about looking at a piece with fresh eyes, to see the things writers haven’t, can’t or don’t want to see for themselves. Genre rules can be like the emperor’s clothes; readers assume that’s how it should be and read it that way.

Much the same as reading your paragraphs backwards when proof-reading for typos, reading outside your genre not only broadens your skills as a writer, but allows you to see things as a reviewer that you might otherwise have missed.

Myth 3: Critique must be sensitive to the writer’s intentions

A reviewer cannot know the writer’s intentions.

Some writers—I’m one of them—go out of our way to obscure our intentions. Others adjust how they describe their intentions to suit their audience. Still others write a piece because it felt right and are unaware of their unconscious intentions.

In my opinion, the only way to critique is to read and react to the work as you find it.

Myth 4: Critique must be correct to be useful
As with the example of the misunderstood man above—where readers understood the exact opposite of what I meant—it is invaluable for a writer to find when readers have not understood what the writer intended. The reviewer cannot say when that has happened because they are unaware of it. But these misunderstandings are visible to the writer reading the critique and they should direct the writer to problem areas that need work.

But if all those myths are discounted, what is left to separate robust critique from a vindictive attack? In my opinion, the only thing that can be expected of any critique is that it is honest and that the reviewer’s intent is to be constructive.

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Gaius Coffey’s story “Alone, Not Lonely” was shortlisted for the 2010 Fish Publications One-page Story competition. His story “Terry and the Eye” was Every Day Fiction’s most read story in March, 2010. He lives in Dublin with his wife, two cats and a baby daughter; the latter being as much an inspiration to write as an impediment to writing resulting, on balance, in bafflement.

One of the comments that’s difficult for many of us to come to grips with is when someone tells us our stories aren’t deep enough or that we haven’t given the reader enough to go on. I’m thinking:  we’re talking flash here, micro flash, hint fiction, short shorts!  How am I supposed to “go deep?”

But for something to resonate, it must have context.  Readers want to feel empathy with the main character—or some kind of emotion for the main character—even if it’s distaste.  The question is, how does a writer do that with a limited word count?

One way is to use specific details that not only set up the time and place, but also suggest a back story, the circumstances, or even a trait or two of the main characters.  Specific details also anchor the story for the reader, giving them something to visualize while waiting to find out what happens next.

I’m not suggesting that a writer needs to describe an entire room, tell the reader the exact time of day, but rather to stroke in a detail much as a painter might do.  If you examine a painting closely, you may discover that the person in the background is just a line squiggle with a touch of brown at the top to suggest hair  and a swish of red to suggest a skirt.

These details do not need to be written into a piece  immediately in the rough draft, but can be added in the revision stage of the process once the writer understands herself what the story is about.  Then the details can also serve the story in a thematic way too.

Here’s an example:

Water drips from icicles outside the kitchen window. Clear skies glisten through dirty glass panes. I’m pouring my first cup of coffee when I hear snow sliding down the roof and know it’s time to call Carissa.

This is the opening to a story called, “Spring Melt.” It’s a stroke like a painter’s stroke.  The whole house isn’t given, not even a whole kitchen,  just the suggestion of a house because it has a kitchen, dirty window panes, and a sloping roof.  There is a sense that winter is passing into spring and that brings the narrator to a decision to call some woman. It’s a specific image to carry the reader into the next paragraph, but also to give the story context and later, a thematic pay-off.

There are two other ways to help deepen the story, one by showing tension between the characters through dialogue and the other by having one of the characters reflect on something that has happened in the past.  This brief exchange between Anna and Matt from “She Can’t Say No”  tries to do both.

…Alone at the table, Matt asks Anna how she knows his friend, Kerrick, a fast-track kind of guy, gel in his hair and Hugo Boss shoes.

“I met him once,” she says and smiles.

When she smiles, the scar on her upper lip whitens. Sometimes when he wakes up alone in the morning, thinking of her, the word “harelip” pops into his brain. He’s hinted to her about childhood operations, bringing up tonsillectomies, appendectomies, avoiding the words “quadrilateral mirault flap,” but she says nothing.

Looking at her mouth now, he can almost feel its slight ridge on his tongue. He coughs. “And?”

And what, Matthew?”

“You were flirting.”

“I know.” And she slips the side of her naked foot along Matt’s calf and tucks it behind his knee. “I’m sorry.”

People in stories don’t always have to agree and when they don’t, they argue, and when they argue, they bring up old grudges, other disagreements, and reveal who they are and what’s important to them.  In the example above, the relationship between the two characters is revealed by how she parries Matt’s jealousy.  It’s not a fight, but it’s still a moment of revelation.  Then Matt remembers how it feels to run his tongue along the scar on Anna’s mouth showing that although he is jealous of her past with men, he’s also aware she isn’t perfect.

Sometimes stories work without specific detail,  but going deeper can of ten be as easy as changing a word or two, adding a line, using a bit of dialogue, or throwing in a specific detail that gives the reader context for the unfolding events of the story like Anna’s slipping her naked foot behind Matt’s knee.

Flash Fiction Chronicles announces an upcoming flash contest, the String-of-Ten Flash Fiction Contest.

I like FFC, but I hate writing prompts. I think they are absolute bullshit. Weak. Victorian even. Hey, here’s a writing prompt: Get your fucking ass out of bed and write.

I do like that there is no entry fee.

Here’s a prompt: Imagine you are a crop-duster shack.

Here’s a prompt: Stop watching your neighbors.

Also, at FFC, Aubrey Hirsch argues for plot in flash fiction. She feels this is what separates the prose poem from the flash fiction. I don’t know. I wish she had defined what she means by plot.

She does say, “I need to see something important shift in the course of the story.”

Ok, well a lot of prose poems shift. I wonder if Aubrey is saying she just needs something to happen. Like a conflict. Or possibly a stirring of a theme? Is she arguing for intent?

Prose poems often have all of the above.

What if we don’t separate the prose poem and the flash fiction? What will happen?

Her ponderings remind me a little bit of Lorrie Moore’s “How to Become a Writer.” Moore’s story is NOT about how to become a writer, but it is about plot. The protagonist takes a CW workshop and everyone–including her instructor–comments that she has no sense of plot. That’s her problem–she doesn’t do plots. And this is a bad thing. Pretty much a deal-ender, as far as the workshop is concerned.

BUT, read a bit more closely, or view the protagonist a bit closer, I mean to say. Her father is cheating on her mother. Her brother has returned from the Vietnam war without his leg. Her own personal relationships are a dismal series of nothings. Her life has no PLOT. There is no tidy narrative, linear or otherwise. And now Moore’s story has left character and situation and has become a conversation on the short story form. What story structure represents our daily lives? Is it plot?

Our need for plot possibly because we want to feel we have a narrative, our lives? Some arc? Or, even better, some theme. Would suck if we had no theme, right? Well, I’m going to have language in my life. I’m not sure on the structure part. I push against structure sometimes. I push, possibly a form of structure in its pushing. And I sure don’t know about theme…theme. Did this matter. This me. Uh.

Well.

Speaking of, of this thing we call words, this PANK by Hirsch is rather glow here:

Your dream may not be that far off,” he tells me. “Studies have shown that the human brain makes no interesting distinctions between the past and the present.  If someone looks at a hot dog, or remembers looking at the hot dog, the same parts of their brain light up.”

The above post was originally published by Sean Lovelace at his Sean Blog: Nachos Miles Hack Disc Clank blog, January 14, 2011

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Sean Lovelace is an English professor at Ball State University,  a registered nurse (prior career), as well as a father and husband.  He  loves to disc golf,  run far,  fish and hunt.  In fact, he  only eats meat that he personally hunts. He loves quality ale and nachos.  He loves to write and read.  He is the author of HOW SOME PEOPLE LIKE THEIR EGGS which can be ordered from Rose Metal Press!

Gay’s post announcing the Third String-of-10 Flash Fiction Contest reminded me of a post I wrote for my Quotes on Writing blog (currently on hiatus) about my experience with S-o-10 Two. With a bit of editing and beginning with the following quote, here’s what I wrote in that post :

“Write what you care about, what interests and intrigues you.” –  Hallie Ephron in Writing and Selling Your Mystery Novel.

I’ve used this quote before. I repeated it because of something that happened this week. I decided to write a story for the Flash Fiction Chronicles String-of-10-TWO contest. Participants are provided a list of ten words, of which they must use four, plus a quotation. The story doesn’t have to have anything to do with the quote, but it can. Participants have seven days to submit up to three stories of no more than 250 words each.

I need to add a little backstory here. I belong to an online flash fiction writing group (The Flash Factory) that provides multiple writing prompts each week. On Sundays, the moderator supplies a list of five words to be used to write a story using either fifty or fifty-five words – exactly. I participate most weeks and have had a number of published stories from this exercise.  So the String-of-10 contest should be a piece of cake. Right? Ha.

The contest began this past Sunday. I printed out the list of words, the quote, and the rules. I wrote the words and quote on a 3×5 card and carried it around with me, waiting for inspiration. Nothing. I couldn’t figure out what the problem was. It wasn’t like this was a new experience. I did it every week! Finally, it dawned on me. The problem was I had a choice. It was easy for me to write a story from a known list of words. It was when I had to decide which words to use that I stumbled. Interesting.

On Monday, I sat down determined to write a story. I went through the words one more time, chose two that interested me, and began writing. About 300 words later I had a story—sort of—that used five of the prompt words. I edited the text to under 250 words and set it aside. I came back an hour later and reread the tale. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t contest-worthy either. Giving it more thought, I decided there was a story worth writing, but not one I could tell in 250 words or less.

So I decided to write a second story and, after 100 words or so, I determined my idea wasn’t story material. What was the matter? The subject was something that didn’t excite me. It wasn’t something I cared about. It wasn’t a story I could write. Period.

The bottom line is 1) I may have the beginning of a good story, but not one I’m likely to submit to the contest; and 2) I can’t write a story I don’t care about. And I’m okay with that. This isn’t the first story that didn’t pan out, but this time I came out of the process with something tangible. The prompt did it’s job. It got me writing.

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Jim Harrington discovered flash fiction in 2007, and he’s read, written, studied, and agonized over the form since. His Six Questions For. . . blog provides editors and publishers a place to “tell it like it is.” In his spare time, he serves as the flash fiction editor for Apollo’s Lyre.

Immerse yourself–literally–in the experience of good stories, bad stories and everything in between!

One of the best ways to learn how stories are chosen by editors for publication is to become part of the process itself. There’s nothing like reading “slush” to realize not only what editors DON’T want (you won’t want it either), but what they do want.  Reading a piece that has fresh language, energy, interesting characters in odd and difficult situations is a terrific way to figure out what will work in your own stories.

So here’s an opportunity to do just that:  Every Day Fiction is a web magazine that specializes in bringing you fine fiction in bite-sized doses. Every day, we publish a new short story of 1000 words or fewer that can be read during your lunch hour, on transit, or even over breakfast. We are currently looking for slush readers.

The job? Log into our database daily and read stories from the slush folder, determine whether or not each story is  potentially publishable and write a brief comment for the author. The time commitment per day is fairly brief—depending on the number of slush readers and how quickly you read, maybe twenty minutes to half an hour—but  it will pile up if you don’t get in there most days. It’s unpaid, but it’s great experience and we’re a fun team to work with.  Put Every Day Fiction on your résumé, and count on us for a reference when you need one.

The perfect candidate? We’re looking for readers with an interest in short fiction and an eye for good prose. Eclectic tastes  are an advantage because we publish stories of all genres; it helps if you can enjoy a pulpy science fiction piece one minute and a serious literary story the next. Knowing something about flash fiction is also a plus, but we’re happy to educate on that score if you’re a good fit for us.

The fine print?  We ask for a commitment of three months, which is of course extendable if we like you and you want to stay on.  You’ll need internet access, competent computer skills, and the ability/willingness to read and comment on at least ten stories a week (though we can be somewhat flexible around exams and vacations).  If you are a writer, you should be aware that we cannot ethically consider submissions for publication from anyone currently reading for us,so you’ll have to save your own stories until you’re no longer on our team.

How to apply?  Email Camille at  camille@everydayfiction.com.  In the body of the email (no attachments, please), send a short paragraph covering the usual suspects (background, education, experience, and why you’d like to read slush for EDF), and a second paragraph about what you like to read (genres, styles, favourite authors, etc.). Also, please choose one of EDF’s recently published stories and include a brief editorial comment intended for the author of that story.

We’ll get back to you!

For the week of February 6 through February 12, Flash Fiction Chronicles is  having its third String-of-10 Contest—String-of-10 THREE—for the best 250-word story written from a specific prompt: a series of ten words posted at this site on February 6, 2011.

PRIZES

1st Place: Winner will have his or her story published at Every Day Fiction in April, 2011 and be paid the standard payment of $3.00 per story.   A copy of The Best of Every Day Fiction THREE along with a copy of Pomegranate Stories by Gay Degani, editor of Flash Fiction Chronicles will also be awarded as well as an “I Write Every Day” t-shirt.

2nd and 3rd Place: Winners will have their stories published at Flash Fiction Chronicles in April. (There is no payment for publication at Flash Fiction Chronicles.) A copy of The Best of Every Day Fiction THREE along with a copy of Pomegranate Stories by Gay Degani, the editor of Flash Fiction Chronicles will be awarded to 2nd and 3rd place winners.

GUIDELINES in Brief

1. The prompt for String-of-10 THREE will be available at 12:01 on Sunday, February 6, 2011 here at FFC.
2. There is no entry fee.
3. Submit stories up to 250 words.
4. Enter up to two stories per author.
5. All stories must contain at least four words from the String of 10.
6. Seamless integration of any four of the prompt words is the goal.
7. Entries must be received by 11:59 PDT Saturday, February 12.
8. Winners will be notified by March 2011.  Publications will follow in April.

PRACTICE WRITING FLASH STORIES EVERY DAY USING PROMPTS FROM FLASH FICTION CHRONICLES DAILY PROMPT PAGE HERE OR THE FFC FACEBOOK PAGE HERE.

Stories from the first String-of-10 Contest

1^st Place—Salvation by Ann Pino

2^nd Place—Gypsy Flour by Jon Towler

3^rd Place—Good Morning Susan by Brittany Soder

Stories from the second String-of-10 Contest

1^st Place—The Haircut by Sharon E. Trotter

2^nd Place—The Forever Summer by Mary J. Daley

3^rd Place—Choices Made by Jim O’Loughlin