Flash Fiction Chronicles

1.

I’m just sitting here on this futon and staring for hours out the window, so turn to one of the many quotations of the 1^st century Greek philosopher/statesman/dramatist Seneca (I was forced to memorize these as a child, as punishment for my relentless shoplifting). This one seems to address flash fiction: “To enjoy the present, without need for amusement and anxious dependence upon a construct—failing, rising, change—but to rest satisfied with The Spark, the flung knife of conflict, the eye contact and thrill in the after-burn quivering of the pelvis, the sound of river over stone, or car tire over an adulterous companion, the image of skin against white cotton curve, the image of a car antennae bending in the wind (or even clenched hand—snap!), which is sufficient, for he that is so wants nothing. The significant moments of mankind can be caught in etched stone, like a broken windshield, or legal summons. A quality story has seven dimensions, as you know. That souvenir Graceland coffee mug is my property. A wise man respects the Spark of Life, whatever it may be, without wishing for what he has not. I tried, Sarah!”

That may not be the exact quote; I’m paraphrasing here.

What the? A squirrel missing a front paw keeps trying to rifle my birdfeeder. You have to respect its perseverance, though I have greased the birdfeeder pole with sun block. The squirrel leaps up, grips with his three limbs, slides back down. Again. I bet he smells like coconut by now

2.

Find a story, a sparkle. A boy-crazed ruse. I mean essence. There are many ways. Here’s one of my little tricks (feel free to try this yourself, or use in the classroom): I drink a pint of schnapps (to open the doors of perception) and go people-watching at the world’s largest daycare/rehab center, Wal-Mart. Observe the ill and obese, the trodden and tired and pissed off and screaming and slouchy. Straight out of Bobbie Anne Mason, or maybe Chekhov (a fine flash fiction writer in his day). I stagger along, noting down a story for everyone. Pay attention, and everything hatches open like a chrysalis. This is your job as artist, to capture, to glow and craze.  See that little girl with a head like a canned ham? She has a sister who will form her own line of grooming products for dogs. She’ll probably run off with a salesman named Drew. On a sleeting Tuesday in November. Unfortunately, she will be eaten by a chow. That rotund woman over by the toilet paper works at the Mercedes plant. She cleans the robots that make the SUVS. Her dream is to save up enough money to purchase her very own SUV, a sickly bright yellow one (a superficial goal in my opinion). That will never happen because one day she overheats and explodes into confetti. See that ugly dude with a body like a tire iron? He resembles my brother. Wait, it is my brother.

“What are doing here?” I ask him. “I thought you were moving to Alaska.”

“Alaska?” he says. “No. That was just a figure of speech. The idea being that I was spiritually dead and shallow, and thought maybe a regional change might lead to a psychological improvement. It was all metaphorical. I’m not moving anywhere. I’m too scared to truly grow. How’s the separation going?”

“I don’t want to discuss the separation,” I tell him. Let’s move on.

3.

I wrote this next part while on Xanax and beer. (Long story, but I self-medicated early one morning. I thought I had a flight to catch and am terrified of flying. Ends up I missed the flight by a week or so, so now I just sat in my empty bedroom with this massive Xanax/Budweiser buzz. Sort of floating. Sort of single cloud.) So anyway, I opened Word and wrote this about flash fiction: Find something antediluvian. Find something fashionable. Visit a dentist’s office and record the amount of time you spend in the office waiting. Go to Russell Edson’s house (he lives in Cincinnati) and feed his dog, by hand. Wow, OK, throw in the word resonant. Listen, the man riding the motorcycle we will now call biker. That woman on the bike? Cyclist. Observe the making of their love. The child is an enigma. Don’t blame the TV, which I mean as the mirror. Put down the revolver-shopping and write. Nothing is happening? That’s OK. Most of the good stuff ends up off the page.

4.

Some things so small to be actually large.  Haiku or hydrogen atom, for example. Or take a phrase, an ordinary nothing phrase, three letters short (or long? Now you understand me): I do. These words can change your everyday reality from existential dread and alienation to a shared value and love of life. The exact inverse is likewise possible.

Throw in the term evoke an emotion. Oh hell, go ahead, let’s all say compression. Finally, add the only word in the English language with the letter sequence UFA. Rinse and repeat, repeat and rinse.

5.

Dad called and asked if I needed to borrow money. I screamed No, no, what I need is a story so moving no one will skip even a single word. That’s what I need, dad!! Jesus.

Close your eyes and press your index finger to the page, any word of your draft. Open your eyes. Why does that word matter?

(answer or delete)

6.

Treat an adverb the same you would a fruit bat in full daylight.

7.

When I was a child I ate pepperoni pizza for 41 days straight. On the 42^nd day I swore I’d never eat another slice of pepperoni for the rest of my life. That was 25 years ago. My point is to have more than one type of sentence. Length, arrangement, flow—change up something on the page.

I just noticed a water stain on my ceiling in the shape of a city burning. It looks like Memphis, either ancient Egypt, or Tennessee. Odd.

What exactly is a statesman? You know, Seneca was a big fan of self-restraint and personal discipline, but also really enjoyed having sex with married women. I’m just talking ancient history here. Factoids, glitters, questions of the mind—scatter them throughout your flash like thrown sapphires. Jerome Stern (fiction critic, flash master) labeled these as “intrigants.” Have a few.

8.

Leap for the pole.

Grapple, grip, flail your amputated heart and soul.

Slide right back down

Fall…

9.

You ever seen a squirrel exhibit self pity? Me neither. Best thing to do now is stop reading. Stop waiting on the phone to ring. Or for the bourbon and fried onions to stun you into sleep. Wake! Then wake up. Then manufacture.

(And so on.)

Sean Lovelace reads, writes, publishes flash and other fiction. In Diagram, Crazyhorse, wherever. His collection “How Some People Like Their Eggs” won the Third Annual Short Short Chapbook contest at Rose Metal Press, and will arrive in summer 2009. He teaches at Ball State University, but you can find him on the river, or in front of a platter of nachos.  Sean blogs at http://seanlovelace.com/.

Editor’s note: Sean’s story “Notes from Matrimony, # 9″, by the way, was selected as one of Wigleaf’s Top 50 (very) Short Fiction List.  Read it here: “Notes from Matrimony, # 9.”

I’ve never considered myself much of a flash fiction author, but looking at my catalog of published work, I find a handful of them there, and in most cases my stories are in good company. I’ve always felt that writing good flash was a bit beyond my reach.

Truly talented authors manage to create a perfect blend of plot, detail, and emotion into something that can stay with the reader for hours, days, even years. Luckily, I was ignorant enough to think it was as easy as it looks–lucky for me, not the poor editors who might have read the attempts–because if I had realized how difficult it really is, I don’t think I would have even bothered trying.

A typical contemporary short story of about 2000-3000 words has plenty of breathing room.  Heck, you can even fit a couple of character arcs in there if you really want to. Now here’s the thing that amazes me, a skilled author can do that same thing in 500 words.

How do they do it?

Gosh, I couldn’t tell you for sure; I’m still trying to figure it all out. But I do have some suspicions based on some general observations of successful fiction.

Like any other type of creative endeavor you intend to share with an audience, the first and foremost rule is:

Be engaging.

When you engage the reader deeply enough that they read on, you’ve succeeded as author. If you don’t capture the reader’s attention, then unfortunately you have failed. Sorry, try again. That being said, engaging is a subjective thing, but majority wins. Artistically successful authors don’t pander, but they aren’t spewing out complete gibberish either, right?

The next thing I’ve noticed is flash fiction, like any fiction, must contain conflict. I think scope is important here; flash is often about capturing a brief period of time.

For example:

A picture of your dog: boring
A picture of my dog: boring
A picture of one doggy-bone: boring

A picture of your dog, my dog and one tasty doggy-bone: a flash story.

Without conflict you don’t have a story, without conflict you won’t engage the reader. It seems reasonable to to keep the scope as tight as possible. Of course you’ve got plenty of room to build some implicit meaning with dramatic symbolism; perhaps one of those dogs is a mangy old stray, and the other is frilly pampered pet.

Stated inversely, very few authors could pull off a flash fiction that encompassed the complexities of say, World War II. Then again some might be able to. Maybe you’re one of them; it’s certainly worth a try. To paraphrase Hemingway, big emotion doesn’t necessarily come from a big story. Personally, I’m not going to worry about big until I’ve mastered small.  Simple is beautiful.

After the scope of the conflict is properly sized, I think the most important thing is detail. Flash fiction is not only about capturing the perfect moments, it’s about capturing the imperfect moments as well. Imperfections make it real, imperfections make it engaging . . . does that stray have fleas? I hope so, because fleas are creepy and crawly and gross. And I like that. As a reader, minutia is what puts me in the story, it’s a form of equity the writer builds, it can carry me over the rough spots later on.

Often a good piece of flash has a punchline of sorts. Was there a third dog hiding in the bushes that bounded out and stole the bone while the first two were fighting? Yes? Good, I didn’t see that coming. Truth be told twist endings are actually much more advanced technique than they  first appear. As a lifelong bibliophile I’ve seen it all; it’s hard to surprise me. I suspect a lot of readers feel this way. As a new writer, I’m probably not really clever enough to pull this off yet, but I don’t let that stop me from trying. Practice makes perfect.

Finally, I think word choice is so much more critical in flash. Short stories have a small amount of leeway–tone and theme have a little wiggle room . . . novels even more so, but in a flash story every single word should be meticulously considered. The right word, in the right place can save you a whole sentence elsewhere. But I stress right, avoid using words you wouldn’t use in conversation with a fellow writer.  An esoteric, discommodious, multisyllabic word might leave your reader . . . annoyed. Try to avoid that.

So that’s all I know about flash fiction, and a good bit of what I know about story telling in general.  As you can see, it would easily fit into a thimble with plenty of room  to spare. Thanks for reading, and I look forward to seeing your flash stories.

Bosley Gravel, eclectic hack writer, was born in the Midwest, and came of age in Texas and southern New Mexico.  His fiction focuses on the absurdly tragic, and the tragically absurd. He likes good black coffee, nightmares, Billie Holiday, and that hour just before the sun comes up.  His genre fiction has been podcasted at Well Told Tales, The Dunesteef, and published at Macabre Cadaver, Reflections Edge, Tales from the Moonlit Path and many others.  He also rather shyly admits to a hacking out a few literary short stories which have appeared in Shalla Magazine, The Deepening, The Fabulist, and Every Day Fiction.  He has a gothic horror novella coming out on March 15th 2009, in ebook format produced by Shadowfire Press, and has placed a story in the upcoming Dead Bait Anthology by Severed Press.  Check his site for links to these stories and more, plus reprints released under the Creative Commons License.