How do I write an ultra-short story?
By Sarah Segretti (mrsblome@aol.com)
Website: http://members.aol.com/mrsblome
For me, trying to explain how to write something ultra-short is like teaching a little kid how to tie his shoe. You've been doing it for years without thinking, and when you begin to take apart the process, the individual steps suddenly make no sense.
This may be why my son still can't tie his shoes, but I plan to pull myself together and give you a few tips on how to write something under 10K. And maybe you won't trip over the results.
I have to admit one thing about how I write, and it's not very helpful: the shorter the story, the more likely it is that it just popped into my head fully formed. But that doesn't mean I got the story right the first time I got it down on paper.
Some things I do to make my stories real:
--Slow down.
Ever been in a car wreck? Remember how time slowed down and you saw everything as if you had an hour to look around, even though it lasted only a tenth of a second? I personally remember my hands flying up to my eyes too late to catch my airborne glasses, the black edge of the steering wheel rising towards my face, and the slap of the shoulder belt across my chest that saved me from a smashed nose. I can picture this clearly today, even though the accident was 11 years ago.
That's how sharply you're trying to see things. That's how vivid you want to get. If you can't see the scene, the reader doesn't either. And in a very short story, if the reader doesn't see the scene, it's just words on a page. There's more to an ultra-short story than what's going on inside a character's head.
Sure, scrawl down that first draft, get it all down on paper. But then stop, take a deep breath, and look around as if you were the POV character. What do you see? What do you hear? What are other people doing? What's the weather? Pick out the things you'd focus on, if you were that character, and ignore the things you wouldn’t. Which leads me to…
--Pick your spot.
I've had so many people ask me what was going on in "Operation Clean House," what the details of the invasion were, what precisely Mulder and Scully were going off to do, what happened afterwards -- and you know, I have no idea. Still don't. All I cared about was that last moment before they parted, how the kiss would happen. The rest, well, it wasn't the story I wanted to tell.
A vignette is the wrong place to do what journalists oh-so-politely refer to as "notebook barfing," throwing every fact and idea you've got into a story. All that matters is the moment, and the exact details you need to use to make it real. (I could tell you a lot more about that car accident, for example, but none of it was germane to the point I was trying to make.) Start your story the minute your moment starts, and get out fast when it's over. The rest can wait for another story.
(Okay, I admit it, I do know what happened after "Operation Clean House," but only because someone else wrote it: Branwell, author of the fine "Won and Lost.")
--Make the world go away.
Normally, I write in short bursts and utter chaos -- on the subway, at my son's tae kwon do class, in food courts, you name it. Naturally, this means it takes a while for me to finish stories. But the shorter the story, I think, the less interruption the writing process will tolerate. "Baggage Claim" was written on an airplane; "Operation Clean House" was written while I was waiting for one. I sketched out "Belmont, Ohio, 3:36 P.M." in full in my head on a long road trip, although it did take longer to write because it took time to pick out just the right songs. <g>
The tone and the mood of a story are the most difficult things to capture, I think. If you can get at least the first draft down in one sitting, you may channel a consistent mood even without trying.
--Nail it down.
I have to give credit to the lovely and talented bugs for this tip. Short-shorts are more powerful when they're pegged to something specific -- an incident in a character's life, a particular episode. Longer stories often have several changes of mood or locale; shorter stories don't, or usually shouldn't. (I *have* broken my own rule.) Keeping it specific can boost the impact of a story to soul-searing levels. To mention other people's stories, "Every Mother's Child," by Jill Selby, hits its mark because it focuses on the loss of Emily. "Nobody's Son," by Marguerite, packs a punch because it fills in a few terrible hours glossed over in "Sein und Zeit" and sums up Mulder and Scully's emotional state with an incredible last line.
--Use the Force, Luke.
Okay, this is the part where I have to admit that I consider my super-short stories gifts from somewhere else. I feel I've tapped into something outside myself to receive the story. The Zone? The Muse? The Force? Whatever. Relax and concentrate. Trust whatever it was that inspired you.
Let it flow.
And please don't trip on the way.
-end-
The links you'll need: