Flash Fiction Chronicles

Dramatic structure in flash fiction is an interesting beast, isn’t it? On one hand, the most satisfying flash stories are going to be basically be very, very short stories. On the other hand, it’s such a teeny, tiny amount of room.

Take for example this complete story, A Little Fable by Franz Kafka. It weighs in at a hefty 92 words counting the title and byline:

A Little Fable
by Franz Kafka

“Alas,” said the mouse, “the whole world is growing smaller every day. At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was glad when I saw walls far away to the right and left, but these long walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already, and there in the corner stands the trap that I must run into.”

“You only need to change your direction,” said the cat, and ate it up.

Okay, as an author my interest is piqued. This story has two characters, two lines of dialog, and a good bit of philosophy. Dramatic irony, and a twist ending, all wrapped up in a neat little package of less than 95 words.

Roll up your sleeves, put on your latex gloves and hand me a scalpel right out of my little black bag. We’re going to do some exploratory surgery . . . what? You can’t find the scalpels, only the Three Act Structure and The Hero’s Journey? Those will have to do. I guess we can make a big a mess out of this patient with those as we can with knives …

“But Bosley,” I can hear you saying, “The three act structure is for plays, and movies. Not my beautiful whimsical flash.”

Okay, I’ll be the first to admit applying structure in this way is more an exercise in creative thinking than it is true analyses. But heck, I’ve never let the facts get in the way.

What is the three act structure?

Act 1: Introduce the protagonist, the premise and a get the conflict rolling

Act II: The protagonist should try to fix the problem, and make things even worse in the process (or at least things should get worse). Change will most likely be instigated by an outside force.

Act III: Things are resolved with a climax, the premise is addressed in a meaningful way. Loose ends are tied up.

Okay, so let’s apply it . . .

“Alas,” said the mouse,

Main Character: We are introduced to the mouse, and we see immediately he is bemoaning his situation.

“the whole world is growing smaller every day.

Dramatic Premise: He explains that his world is changing there is an implicit question here: How will he handle this change?

At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was glad when I saw walls far away to the right and left,

Dramatic situation/Obstacles/rising action: this answers the implicit question, how does the mouse try to deal with it? Running. Well what can stop him? Will he succeed in his escape? There is even a bit of irony worked in there … he previously feared the largeness of his world.

but these long walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already,

First Culmination: No, he can’t run away and solve the problem, in fact it’s made things much worse.

and there in the corner stands the trap that I must run into.”

Midpoint: Can’t do this alone, at the very least . . . maybe that cat will have some advice.

“You only need to change your direction,”

Climax: Ah, it is all so clear now, the answer is so very simple.

said the cat, and ate it up.

Denouement: and how is this new information used? As it turns out this is a bit of a tragedy, the mouse is far worse off than he was at the beginning Also, a bit of a trick ending.

“I guess that makes sense,” I can hear you saying, “If one is to squint just right, and play very loosely with definitions . . . but what is this hero’s journey thing about?”

The short answer is that the hero’s journey is a 12 part structure that defines what a Hero Archetype must go through to complete his goal. Take a peek here, I’ll wait.

Okay, so here’s my attempt to put A Little Fable in this structure:

Mouse’s Journey

The mouse describes his ORDINARY WORLD by saying it is ‘growing smaller’ there is an IMPLICIT CALL TO ADVENTURE in this, if his world is changing what will he d? He REFUSES THE CALL by ‘running and running’, he then CROSSES THE THRESHOLD by declaring he is in the ‘last chamber’. Here is the TEST, the trap, what will he do as he approaches the INNERMOST CAVE and suddenly he is face to face with the cat who appears to be a MENTOR but is really a SHAPE SHIFTER, the cat gives some advice about the ROAD BACK …

… okay so it’s lacking RESURRECTION I think, but the ELIXIR is ultimately given to us as the reader in the advice that ‘You only need to change direction,’ and while it is too late for the mouse, we have his wisdom.

So that was a little more tricky, I think. And as you can see not all the steps are really met. That’s often the case, even with works meant to fit into the structure, as this one surely was not consciously meant to.

As you can see, with some mental acrobatics  and pretentious assumptions even the shortest bit of finely crafted fiction can be brutally bludgeoned with these crude tools. Now the really interesting post would be on what this story actually means . . . any volunteers?

Bosley Gravel writes  all manner of nonsense.  Check out his two latest traditional length stories “The Courtship of Lady Boo-Boo” and “Paid in Full“, both containing a full three acts of heros, journeys, whimsy.   His first novel, “The Movie” is scheduled for released late 2009.

I am not a patient person. Never have been. And when in the past (a rolling, long-ago past) I couldn’t master something immediately, I assumed I had no talent and no skills and I gave up.

No talent. No skills.

These are two distinct attributes. Having talent is terrific and it certainly makes following your passion rewarding, but talent is only half the formula.

Having skill is absolutely necessary (watch American Idol if you don’t believe me). But getting these skills isn’t an immediate process. And if you’re talking about becoming an expert at anything, you’re talking YEARS of practice. That’s where patience comes in.

I think it was Robert McKee (the writing coach whose book STORY is an excellent resource) who said that all we can do is to “take out our little bit of talent,” push it around every day, apply our hard-earned skills and hopefully, that will result in something worthwhile. I’m sure I don’t have that quote exactly right, but you get the gist. It takes both talent and skill to become good at anything and skill takes patience.

Last night when I went to bed I was miserable. Things at the end of my current work-in-progress were not working out. The whole thing felt stupid and, heaven forbid, CORNY. In the old days, I would have felt doomed. I would have thought of quitting. I would believe to the depths of my being that my writing sucked. And I sucked.

But this morning, I remembered I have developed a skill-set to help me solve the problems in my story. Hmmmm. Imagine that!

I read about two or three pages in the middle, did a little editing, and suddenly I knew how to solve the story problem at the end. My mind was asking questions that only an “expert” would know to ask.

I moved away from the computer and started to scribble notes of what exactly had to happen for the whole story to make sense. I was so shocked at how easy it was, I started doubting it would work. But I typing the notes, I’m sure it does work. And it isn’t corny. Maybe a little corny, but I still have time to fix that. Wow, it’s working!!!

I’m not saying here that what I do is brilliant or even interesting to anyone else. But it is to me. To see that I will allow myself to make mistakes, to go on tangents, to think I suck, and then get back to work. To take out my “little bit of talent” and my years of practice, and actually be able to have answers, know what comes next, delight myself with a surprising ending, that for me, is success. And when I discover the NEXT problem, I will have skills to solve that too.

This idea of having patience–and I suppose, FAITH IN THE WRITING PROCESS–is a gift to me. A gift I’ve given myself over the years by focusing on learning the skills I need to do what I want, and letting my little bit of talent take care of itself.

I’ve gone off and expanded this topic at my blog, Words in Place.  To read more, click here.

Gay Degani has been published in two mystery anthologies, in THEMA Literary Journal and on-line at Every Day Fiction, Flash Fiction Online, Tattoo Highway, and Salt River Review. “Spring Melt” was a finalist for The 2^nd Annual Micro Fiction Award and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.  “Monsoon” was a finalist in Glimmer Train’s 2007 Fiction Open and “Wounded Moon” was short-listed for the 2008 Fish Short Story Prize.  Gay is the editor of EDF’s Flash Fiction Chronicles. She blogs at Words In Place.

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.”