Sudden Fiction

In 1986, Robert Shapard and James Thomas edited the inaugural offering in what would become a series of story collections. Sudden Fiction: American Short-Short Stories is considered the first well-known compilation of what we now call flash fiction. Flash is what it sounds like: a story that occurs in a flash; typically, they are less than 1000 words in length. Make no mistake, however; these stories aren’t lightweights. Blaise Pascal famously said, “I have only made this letter longer because I have not had the time to make it shorter.” Writers of all genres would do well to practice writing flash pieces as cross-training for scene impact, characterization, and conciseness at the sentence level. As a reading experience, flash can and should offer the same satisfaction and depth as a longer story. And all flash is most certainly not alike. Even at this shorter length, themes, genres and types vary as much as they do in longer stories. By way of example, here are three of my favorites from the classic Sudden Fiction.

"I See You Never" by Ray Bradbury

"No One’s a Mystery" by Elizabeth Tallent

"Sunday at the Zoo" by Stuart Dybek

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Favorite Reads, 2017

Another year, another (smallish) dent made in the to-read pile. I read 44 books this year, up slightly from last year's 40 but continuing the cooling trend due to, probably, the time I spend watching singing and dancing reality television. But I managed to read 29 novels, 13 short story collections and 2 memoirs. And because I'm a giver, here's a list of my favorite 10. It's interesting to note that 6 of the 10 are story collections, which probably signifies some other sort of trend I could analyze if I were competent in math (I'm not). Also, I find myself feeling defensive now about the novels...I will say that I read many VERY good ones. But only a few earned my highest rating. So, without further qualifications, the ten best things I read this year (in categories!!):


The Overdue Favorites

First on my list are two books that I've seen, from time to time, listed as someone's favorite. After you see a book referred to enough times amongst a circle of writers, I figure it's time to take notice.

So Long, See You Tomorrow (1980) by William Maxwell

Fifty years after a death in a small town, one man tries to reconstruct the past and reconcile his memories. An elegy of a book, full of life and sadness, written in a straightforward, lyrical style that cuts straight through to the heart. Worth every penny and all of the accolades it continues to get.



Jesus' Son (1992) by Denis Johnson

The first story of this collection, "Car Crash While Hitchhiking," is a fitting introduction to the impact Johnson's style has on a reader. Straightforward, always surprising, with a dash of poeticism at moments you may least expect it. The narrator is a drug user of questionable judgment and motive, and yet, there's no qualification in it. I suspect some of the influence this book has had is due to its form--interconnected stories--and certainly, from the unique style, which has opened doorways of imagination for many writers. Either way, it deserves its status as a classic.

The Maverick

Transit (2017) by Rachel Cusk

This book gets its own category because there are none like it, this, my very favorite read of the year. When writing strikes so close, it's difficult to explain sometimes. The second in Cusk's Outline trilogy, this novel follows the same narrator, who has relocated to London with her two sons after a divorce. There, she purchases a dilapidated flat and tries to make renovations. So, that's the plot. But what this book is, and can do, is something else. Like all of the best fiction, it's about love and loss and memory and pain, about identity and relationships and what, if anything, we can count on to be real. The first two books in this series have left a mark on me, and I expect to lose sleep waiting for the third.

Discoveries

This year, I read several authors for the first time, not because they are new authors but because our paths finally crossed.

What the Thunder Said (2007) by Janet Peery

Peery is the writer of novels and short stories, and the recipient of numerous awards; most notably, she was a National Book Award finalist in 1996. So, not a new writer at all, but one I'm lucky to be able to explore now. Set during the Dust Bowl of the 1930s, this novel follows the progress of the Spoon family through a range of perspectives and voices. A uniquely American story, with themes of perseverance and the bonds of family. Oh, and it's beautifully written.

Eveningland: Stories (2017) by Michael Knight

Another author I probably should have read earlier but at least I can pillage his previous writings--both stories and novels--now. Knight is one of those writers who seem to have a spotlight on the human condition. All of the stories are set in and around Mobile, Alabama, and highlight the everyday concerns of people carrying on despite the best the outside world can throw at them: home intruders, oil spills, hurricanes. An immersive read, full of treasures.


The Woman Who Borrowed Memories (2014) by Tove Jansson

The date of 2014 refers to the translation published in the United States. Jansson was a renowned Swedish-speaking Finnish writer who passed away in 2001. She was also a painter, illustrator, and comic strip author, and her varied artistic leanings come through in these original stories. Many of Jansson's characters face isolation and the complicated pull of artistic creation. A dark undercurrent runs through and yet, I found the stories, ultimately, hopeful. Sidenote: any time you're looking to shake up your reading routine, New York Review of Books Classics is always a solid bet.

The Masters

Living in the Weather of the World (2017) by Richard Bausch

I've been playing catch-up with this prolific writer, having come to him too late a few years ago. And every year, something of his seems to make my favorites list. As implied in the title, these stories are about weathering storms, the varied ways we press on. Through a diverse host of characters, Bausch always seems to be able to hit the chords that resonate most deeply, reminding us of our shared humanity. Truly a heartfelt and masterful collection of stories.


Runaway (2004) by Alice Munro

Another writer I return to, again and again, to remind myself how good writing can be. Like Bausch, she's a master of character and feeling, and illuminating the "small" things that make up a life. Bonus: afterwards, you can watch the Pedro Almodóvar film Julieta, which was inspired by this collection. I found it to be a spirited and intriguing interpretation that I enjoyed very much.

The Indies

Disclaimer: I have the distinct pleasure of knowing both of the following authors, either online and/or in person, and I may have been lucky enough to read these books in earlier forms. So I'm doubly pleased to include their wonderful novels which were, truly, among my favorite reads of 2017.

Blood & Water (2017) by Katie O'Rourke

I'll share with you what I've already written about this novel because yes, I've been yammering about it for a while already:

"Delilah is leaving her cheating boyfriend and she has nowhere to go except the home of her brother, whom she hasn’t seen since their mother’s funeral five years before. David is a single father trying to manage his teenage daughter, and he’s not exactly pleased when his wayward sister shows up. From the opening of this absorbing novel, as Delilah nurses a black eye and ransacks her apartment, trying to decide what she can’t leave behind, I was fully along for the ride. Blood & Water is Katie O'Rourke’s most compelling and heartfelt novel to date, a story about family—past and present, predetermined and chosen—and the deep veins that keep them connected."

Now go and buy it, and support a talented indie author!

Course of Mirrors: An Odyssey (2017) by Ashen Venema

In the author's own words:

"Course of Mirrors is a gripping and enchanting story of a young woman’s odyssey. Its overriding theme of a quest for belonging has a universal recognisability and appeal, and will be continued in Ashen’s sequel, Shapers, in which Ana’s journey continues into future worlds.

Inspired by 1001 Nights, and writers like Ursula Le Guin, Ashen Venema’s debut novel will appeal to fans of fantasy novels and those who enjoy coming-of-age mysteries."

This was new and intriguing terrain for me, a story unlike anything I've read. The execution of this multi-levelled, wholly unique novel was amazing to watch unfold. A truly inspiring accomplishment, which you should buy now!


Thanks for reading my list, and for reading, in general! Here's to many more discoveries of new worlds in the new year. Please tell me your favorites from 2017, particularly that one book that won't let go...

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On Potato Eyes and Story Ideas

Do you know how to grow potatoes? Maybe you watched Matt Damon do it in The Martian. Actually, it’s not rocket science. A potato will start to grow on its own if you leave it in the cupboard too long. To grow new potatoes, you just cut an existing potato into sections, making sure each section has at least one “eye,” which is the little, sprouting nub, then you stick the sections into the ground.

 

I thought about this yesterday when I went out to bring the trash cans in. I’d been thinking about two stories recently finished. Well, finished for now. I was thinking about how I’m getting dangerously close to having enough stories for a collection, and how I should stick with this cycle (which seems to be about loss, and perception, and maybe even, colors), for at least a couple more. But I’ve never been one for brainstorming story ideas; I mostly wait until they announce themselves.

 

So I was thinking about those two stories and what I might possibly work on while I’m trying not to work on them, and I looked up to see a piece of paper stuck in a nearby bush. Also, a chips wrapper. Both were escapees from the now-mostly-empty trash cans. Immediately, I knew it was a scrap from a story draft, which I had marked up to the point of needing to print a new copy. In dramatic fashion, I thought: I’ll write a story about whatever it says.

 

And this is what was on that scrap of paper, that potato eye:

 

 

"She's never done anything for herself."

 

I knew immediately where these words came from: which story, about which character. It was quite a good scrap, I thought. First, I started thinking about potatoes and did that for a while. But then I refocused on the found fragment, which started to grow in some possible directions and suggest possible rooms, and people, and problems. And I thought that maybe it’s not such a bad approach, growing something from a piece of something else. Sometimes the universe gives you signs and they're hard to recognize and interpret. Sometimes, they’re pretty direct.

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In Praise of Stories and the Graying of Genre

This year, like many, many other viewers, I’ve been taken with NBC’s new series, This is Us. I binge-watched the first ten episodes, and now have to watch and wait, week by week, for the rest. The show’s taken some ribbing for stringing along tragedy and its tendency to induce ugly crying, but fans can’t get enough. And I’ve been thinking about the structure of the show and trying to decide what we would call it, in book form.

For those who don’t pull up every week with a box of tissue and glass of something white or red, This is Us follows the story, past and present, of the Pearson family: mom and dad, and a set of untraditional triplets. Untraditional because one is adopted, while the other two are surviving twins, I guess, from a traditional set of triplets. Anyway, a current-day, linear narrative follows everyone’s lives when the triplets are 36 years old and this narrative is interspersed with stories from the past. Most prominently at first, events from the year 1980, when the parents were expecting, and immediately after the birth; but also, a smattering of stories that can catch the siblings at any point of their childhood, from young kids to adolescents and beyond. These anecdotes are woven through and follow no particular linear path. We may have a story from the year the Pearson brood was seven and the following week, a vignette about one of them as a teen. There is, of course, the current-day narrative binding everything and chugging forward, but some episodes include little or no sight of this train.

So what would we call this form, I wondered, if it were a book? Novel? Short stories? Novel-in-stories? And I was thinking about how, if you ask even avid readers about short stories, most will say they don’t read them. Either because they don’t like them, or they just don’t think about it. This is a generalization based on personal inquiry. Many, many readers appreciate stories of the more brief variety. But I wouldn’t say it’s a popular practice, the regular reading of short stories. Some readers will tell you it’s because they want the more satisfying, deeper experience of reading a novel, the finality of a complete, longer story and the answers they get at its conclusion. And yet, countless television viewers are perfectly content to wait, week by week, for the same answers from a drama like This is Us or many others.

It would seem that short stories or novel-in-stories are forms that follow most closely the way humans interact. Imagine two women at a public park, watching their kids and striking up a conversation. Oh, hello, one might say. My name is ___, and how are you? Which child is yours? Where are you from? Oh, I’ve been there many times. Once, I visited ___ and my plane was delayed and I spent three hours at the very famous ___. Oh, you have? That’s amazing. Etc. etc.

This conversation, mostly likely would not be: Oh, hello, my name is ___ and I was born in ____. My family lived for many years in ____ and as a young child, I was shy and pale, but I enjoyed reading and riding horses. At the age of five, I ____. Etc. etc.

Think about people you’ve known for a long time and yet, are still learning new things about. You can know someone ten years before you hear the story of how they spent their eighth summer in a body cast, or had an affair with that exchange student at nineteen.

Of course, all novels aren’t start-to-finish narratives. Most include things like backstory and foreshadowing, and all sorts of clues hopefully meted out in a way that’s pleasing for the reader. But when you’re dealing with short stories, or a novel-in-stories, you expect each memory, each vignette or moment (each episode!), to have a shiny, finished quality. To be satisfying in its own right, all by itself. So that you can finish a chapter and feel—at least somewhat—full. So that you can turn off the television and feel—at least somewhat—ready to wait a whole week for more.

And so, to those of you who think you don’t like short stories, or maybe even have no patience for something called a novel-in-stories, may I suggest the following, mind-opening reading experiences that might blur your notions of genre (all taken from my own personal list because this is, of course, my blog)? I’m including the genre label for each one, as determined by publisher, for reference only and so later, you can realize how hazy some of these distinctions are.

First, there are some flagships:
 

Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson (novel, 1919)

Mrs. Bridge by Evan S. Connell (novel, 1959)

The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien (novel/stories/memoir??, 1990)

Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout (stories, 2008)


And some recent reads I’d recommend:


We the Animals by Justin Torres (novel, 2011)

The News from Spain by Joan Wickersham (stories, 2012)

See How Small by Scott Blackwood (novel, 2015)

Did You Ever Have a Family by Bill Clegg (novel, 2015)

Another Place You’ve Never Been by Rebecca Kauffman (novel-in-stories, 2016)


I find myself reading in this genre-gray area quite a bit these days, seeking out books that have something to say in a different sort of way, in a way that seems most true-to-life, at least for me. There are many ways to tell a story and to make sense of the stories that, in effect, comprise our lives. I’d love to hear your suggestions for books that gray genre in a good way, and stories that took hold of you and never let go.

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Favorite Reads, 2016

 

For some time, I’ve been averaging a little more than one book a week, but this year I finished just an even forty. There are a couple of reasons for this. One: I read several longer books, and slogged through some other books that seemed to take a long time because I hated them (they will remain unnamed). And two: I did some of the writing I was procrastinating about in 2015, when I read seventy books. I think this is a respectable reason.   

I’ve chosen twelve books as my favorite reads of the year, and two honorable mentions. So fourteen, total, to recommend. Eleven are novels and three are collections of short stories. As always, these aren’t necessarily 2016 releases, but merely books I read during the calendar year. And without further accounting, here they are:

 

 

If I had to choose a "reading event" of 2016, it would have to be the Elena Ferrante novels. As many, many readers before me have already discovered, the story of the friendship between Lila and Elena is dizzyingly addictive, a feast of sights, sounds and drama. Ferrante's portrait of 1950s-to-present-day Naples is one for the ages. It's not often you read something you feel is a major work of the century but in my opinion, these novels will stay and stay and stay. All four were good but I particularly loved #2:

The Story of a New Name (2013) by Elena Ferrante

and #4:

The Story of the Lost Child (2015) by Elena Ferrante

 

Another big reading/writing event of my year would be meeting the acclaimed writer Richard Bausch, and being fortunate enough to participate in his writing workshop. But before that happened, I had already read this story collection and was as impressed with it as I was with the one that made my favorite list in 2015.

Something is Out There (2010) by Richard Bausch

Quietly and resolutely, with careful attention to people and their foibles, Bausch has a way of getting to what he says should be the genesis of every story--what the trouble is. Relationships and regret, longings and mistakes: his characters are our neighbors and friends, our family. And through all the trouble, always a glimmer of hope. Beautiful writing.

 

 All the Light We Cannot See (2014) by Anthony Doerr

 

I challenge you to find someone who read this Pulitzer-Prize-winning best-seller and wasn't completely enraptured by it. Because I can't. And enraptured I was. This story of a blind French girl and a German boy during World War II has absolutely everything you could ever want in a novel. Beautiful writing, amazing scope, unforgettable characters. A stunning achievement, truly.

 

The Remnants (2016) by Robert Hill

 

A quote: Wandering is as much rootedness as aimlessness as ambition. Had the screech in the night not drawn dweller out of his dark cave, nor hunger, nor a tingle in his loins that pointed the way to something he couldn’t quite put his opposable thumb on, he’d have grown restless on his haunches no matter what and been out of that rock hold just because out was not in. It’s the need for a single moment to shift in shape if only slightly from now to then, here to there, this to that…that compels the every twitch, blink, sniff, step and reach.

 Here's my review for The Rumpus of this difficult-to-describe, utterly unique novel.

 

The Door (1987) by Magda Szabó

 

The narrator of this novel is a writer whose work, along with that of her writer husband, has been banned by the Hungarian government. But the ban has been recently lifted; they sequester themselves in a village to write. The wife sets out to find a housekeeper, and her relationship over many years with the older woman she hires is the focus of the novel. It's a flawed, complicated union, one that put me in mind of Ferrante's Lila and Elena, in the many ways these two women are inextricably joined. The novel was recently brought to a U.S. audience with a 2015 edition courtesy of New York Review of Books Classics.

 

The Keepers of the House (1964) by Shirley Ann Grau

 

This modern classic focuses on the Howland family, denizens of the American south, and keepers of their sprawling estate and many secrets. A novel of haunting imagery and poetic flashes, it reads at times like the best suspense novel. A classic that well deserves its continuing audience.

 

Thirteen Ways of Looking (2016) by Colum McCann

 

This collection is comprised of three stories and the title novella, the story of an elderly judge's final day and the converging forces that conspire to end him. In "Sh'khol," a mother keens and searches for her special needs son, who has disappeared after a swim off the coast of their home in Ireland. McCann's characters weather the forces of fate, while clinging to what hope remains.

 

 The Cove (2012) by Ron Rash

 

It's hard not to think of Carson McCullers when a mute flautist enters center stage in Rash's novel set in 1950s North Carolina. Rash writes with the same spare intensity, the same attention to the quiet, everyday moments that define life. Laurel and her brother live alone out by a murky cove. She is believed to be a witch; he has lost a limb in the war. When the mute enters their lonely existence, their world spins apart. I suppose it isn't a perfect novel but because of the sheer force of it, I didn't care.

 

The Beauty of Ordinary Things (2013) by Harriet Scott Chessman

 

This novel slowly reveals the connection between Benny, a soldier recently returned from Vietnam and Sister Clare, who is also adjusting to a new normal as she becomes accustomed to cloistered life. This slender book packs so much humanity, spirit and grace into its pages, with writing you'll want to savor and illuminating moments that leave an indelible impression. A lovely read.

 

Fourth of July Creek (2014) by Smith Henderson

 

Pete Snow lives in an impoverished area of rural Montana, trying to make a difference to dysfunctional families in his role as a social worker. Trouble is, his own family is falling apart too. I raced through the first 2/3 of this book on a long flight, entirely transported by the often-dark world and the characters Henderson depicts. Abuses and neglect, bad decisions and lack of self-control; at times the story felt like a tanker headed to an iceberg. And although the final sections of the book tied up in ways that disappointed me, it couldn't diminish the punch of the rest.

 

Alberto's Lost Birthday (2016) by Diana Rosie

Alberto has no memories prior to his arrival at an orphanage during the Spanish Civil War. When his young grandson discovers that Alberto doesn’t know the date of his birthday, the two set out on a journey to find it. This was my third read of this wonderful story, because Diana is an acquaintance from the former authonomy.com, where we met while trying to get our novels published. I was thrilled to discover hers, finally, in a bookshop at the Barcelona airport when I passed through this summer. I wrote about it here.

 

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

 

100 Years of the Best American Short Stories (2015), Lorrie Moore, editor

One of my longer reads of the year and because it's a sundry collection of stories, difficult to choose as an overall favorite. There were stories that knocked my socks off and several I had a hard time getting through. I suppose with any edited collection, there will be disagreement about the choices. Many of the stories here are stellar, though, and well worth the hardcover price.

 

Outline (2015) by Rachel Cusk

A book I can't stop thinking about, unlike any novel I've ever read. Readers will love it or hate it but like me, I think you'll be unable to shake it. A novel for writers that feels at time like a puzzle, at others like a tease. Wholly intriguing.

 

 

 

 As always, I'd love to hear your favorites of the year because what's a To-Be-Read pile, if it isn't completely unachievable? Happy reading in the new year!

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The Thing About Carson McCullers

 

So I’ve been thinking about Carson McCullers, as I do from time to time. I’d be interested to take a poll of writers working in the United States today, and ask if they’d been influenced by the work of this insightful author. I’ve written about her before in this space, here, about The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, her novel that I’d place in my top five favorite books. But I want to tell you about her stories. Recently, I read this collection and while some stories struck familiar chords, most were entirely new to me. I picked up the book mostly because I’d been wanting to re-read ”The Member of the Wedding,” which is included in this edition along with “The Ballad of the Sad Café.” And there are nineteen of McCullers’s shorter stories, each a vivid, encompassing world, each worth your reading time.

Critics talk about the themes of McCullers’s work and certainly, you’ll find tropes if you read straight through her work. Wounded adolescence, lonely relationships, longing, thwarted dreams, etc. If you read her in school, you heard much about her portrayal of the American South, about McCullers as a agent of the grotesque and southern Gothic. Certainly, all of these things give her writing the distinct flavor that remains long after putting down the pages. But I’ve been thinking a lot about her writing and it seems to me that what really defines her work (and, actually, any great work of fiction) is her gift with writing characters.

We meet people a variety of ways, don’t we? Sometimes we come upon a new person, entirely unexpected, say, at a party. We are thrown together, perhaps at the appetizer table, and our impressions of this new human are precisely that—what we take in with our senses from the moment we gain proximity. Appearance, gestures, the sound of their voice. The things they communicate, with words and otherwise. Then we filter their declarations through our own judgment.

Sometimes we are given a bit of an introduction from someone else. You’ll love her, your friend tells you. She’s so funny and generous, a real character. And so you have a bit of a head start, as far as impressions go, because now you’re prejudiced, one way or the other, by what your friend has said. You come to the meeting armed with some preconceptions, not only because of what your friend has told you, but because of all the interactions of your life up to that point. Prior relationships, situations that were similar, people you may have known in the past who come to mind when you meet this new someone. And the interesting thing about meeting, and knowing people, is that sometimes our preconceptions are right and very often, they turn out to be wrong or incomplete. Most importantly, if we’re lucky (and/or skilled at doing so), we’ll experience some empathy in each interaction with another person.

A truly great writer will give the reader the space to experience a character on their own terms, much like when you meet someone in person. The reading experience should mimic life in this way. In each of the stories in this collection, the thing that pulls you in and keeps you engaged, the overwhelming strength of each piece, is the feeling that you are reading about real people, people who can frustrate and surprise our expectations, or go ahead and do what we knew they’d do all along.

Usually, the beginning of a McCullers story is very straightforward, such as this opening to “The Jockey”:

“The jockey came to the doorway of the dining room, then after a moment stepped to one side and stood motionless, with his back to the wall.”

Right away, expertly and simplistically, we are drawn in. Who is the jockey? Why a jockey? Why does he hesitate?

Occasionally, McCullers will open with some description, but almost always it is simple and evocative of something larger, as in this first sentence of “Art and Mr. Mahoney”:

“He was a large man, a contractor, and he was the husband of the small, sharp Mrs. Mahoney who was so active in club and cultural affairs.”

Doesn’t your mind begin to work with that short description? Already we can picture the practical, lumbering husband, the vocal, well-dressed wife. Some sort of conflict is certain to follow.

“The Haunted Boy” starts with a very simple opening:

“Hugh looked for his mother at the corner, but she was not in the yard.”

 A seemingly innocuous start, and yet the story builds from this simple premise—a boy missing his mother—and we follow this character as he becomes more and more anxious, and the reasons for his fear are slowly revealed. In hindsight, this simple first sentence sets the scene for the entire piece.

And for a final example that many of us can relate to, the start of her story “Who Has Seen the Wind?”:

“All afternoon Ken Harris had been sitting before a blank page of the typewriter.”

Although we may make assumptions about this pitiable character based on what we know about blocked writers, the story holds many surprises.

And what to say about “The Member of the Wedding,” the story that may have some of the most memorable characters of all time? The obsequious youngster John Henry West, the prophetic housekeeper Berenice, and of course, the most unlovable character that I’ve ever fiercely loved, twelve-year-old Frankie. Anyone wanting to know anything about how to write characters should start with this story. And like all of McCullers’s characters, these folks will reward and frustrate you in equal measure. As people do.

I imagine that writers far and wide will continue to be influenced by the work of Carson McCullers. I have returned to her work, time and again, for many years, and always find something new, some inspiration. Which is about all you can ask of a writer, I’d say.

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Readings: Shirley Jackson on Memory, Fans and Garlic

Earlier this month, Random House released a collection of previously unpublished work by Shirley Jackson. It's called Let Me Tell You: New Stories, Essays, and Other Writings and I eagerly anticipate the arrival of my copy any day now. Also this month, The New Yorker ran a three-part series, to whet your appetite for these new pieces by Jackson, and it's one of the best things I read this month. How could I not be affected, when she talks about her home life with four adolescents?

"My situation is peculiarly poignant. Not, perhaps, as sad as that of an orphan child condemned to sweep chimneys, but sadder than almost anything else. I am a writer who, due to a series of innocent and ignorant faults of judgment, finds herself with a family of four children and a husband, an eighteen-room house and no help, and two Great Danes and four cats, and—if he has survived this long—a hamster. There may also be a goldfish somewhere. Anyway, what this means is that I have at most a few hours a day to spend at the typewriter, and about sixteen—assuming that I indulge myself with a few hours of sleep—to spend wondering what to have for dinner tonight that we didn’t have last night, and letting the dogs in and letting the dogs out, and trying to get the living room looking decent without actually cleaning it..."

 And--

"Actually, if you’re a writer, the only good thing about adolescent children is that they’re so easily offended. You can drive one of them out of the room with any kind of simple word or phrase—such as “Why don’t you pick up your room?”—and get a little peace to write in. They go storming upstairs and don’t come down again until dinner, which usually gives me plenty of time in which to write a short story."

 

These excerpts are packed with practical writing advice too. The first relays the convoluted process we writers sometimes have; the third deals with symbol in fiction and speaks absolute truths about the short story form. Here are a few quotes:

 

"A writer is always writing, seeing everything through a thin mist of words, fitting swift little descriptions to everything he sees, always noticing..."

 

"Far and away the greatest menace to the writer—any writer, beginning or otherwise—is the reader. The reader is, after all, a kind of silent partner in this whole business of writing, and a work of fiction is surely incomplete if it is never read. The reader is, in fact, the writer’s only unrelenting, genuine enemy."

 

"Here is one of the greatest pitfalls for beginning or inexperienced writers: Their stories are, far too often, just simply not very interesting."

 

 "It seems to me that in our present great drive—fiction-wise—toward the spare, clean, direct kind of story, we are somehow leaving behind the most useful tools of the writer, the small devices that separate fiction from reporting, the work of the imagination from the everyday account."

 

So get a cup of something hot and clear some time for these three wonderful pieces:

 

Memory and Delusion

On Fans and Fan Mail

Garlic in Fiction

 

 

 

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Immediacy in Fiction

 

For the past year, I’ve been reading lots of short stories. I outlined some of the collections in a previous post here, and three made my Best of 2013 list here. I just finished two more: Dear Life by Alice Munro, and a collection chosen by David Sedaris entitled Children Playing Before a Statue of Hercules, which includes work by Flannery O’Connor, Jhumpa Lahiri and Katherine Mansfield, among others, and which was recommended to me by a thoughtful friend (thanks, Margery!). All of the stories in this one were remarkable and it was interesting to think of each as being an influence on Sedaris’s writing and what I know of him. I was particularly touched by Jean Thompson’s Applause, Applause, which has something to say to writers struggling in one way or another. Munro’s collection begins with a couple of knock-outs, really just masterful stuff, and is strong throughout. I guess those Nobel people know a little something after all.

This morning, I’m thinking about all of these stories I’ve recently read and trying to put a finger on what, if anything, they all have in common. And this may seem like a very obvious thing that I’m about to say but here it is: all of these stories have an immediacy and familiarity about them. They waste no time in making the reader feel that he has been plopped down into the middle of something, from their opening lines. This is the nature of the short story, isn’t it, the brevity, the impact? There’s no time for long asides or extended pages of back story and really, for any labored character analysis. Here’s the opening to Applause, Applause:

"Poor Bernie, Ted thought, as rain thudded against the car like rotten fruit. Watching it stream and bubble on the windshield, he promised himself not to complain about it lest Bernie’s feelings be hurt. He was anxious to impress this on his wife. Poor Bernie, he said aloud. Things never work out the way he plans."

Right away, we have a relationship, the uneven balance of it, and questions about what hasn’t worked out for Bernie and why Ted feels anxious about his wife, and why the rain matters, etc., etc., etc. From the first lines, you are there with Ted, seeing the rain ruin the day, feeling the pity he feels, wondering what comes next.

And from Munro’s story, Gravel:

"At that time we were living beside a gravel pit. Not a large one, hollowed out by monster machinery, just a minor pit that a farmer must have made some money from years before. In fact, the pit was shallow enough to lead you to think that there might have been some other intention for it—foundations for a house, maybe, that never made it any further."

Here, we don’t even know who’s speaking yet but we know something about them and we’re right there: country, farmland, a poor area, perhaps, where the character has had time to contemplate this simple hole in the ground. A feeling of something failed. And don’t you just know something is going to happen in regards to that pit?

We always hear advice about the opening of novels and how they must grab you from the first page, but it’s even more necessary in a short story. The writer must have a sense of urgency but yet a patience too, trusting that the reader will be able to sort things out even if she’s dropped en media res. The true masters of the form know how to condense, how to introduce, how to establish at once a place, a time, a mood. Honestly, I think writers of any form would benefit to dive into shorter forms once in while—both the reading and the writing of them. It reminds you how precious words are.

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