There are quite a few blogs on writing, and many writers have blogs. Some political writers seem to do nothing but blog. (Breitbart.) In addition to the endless role call of the bloggers, there are also “how to” sites that add up to quite an on-line course in writing. When it comes to writing short fiction, there seem to be some rules that have evolved. Over time. (Millenia?) Let’s examine them, referencing my previous post, the “short story.” This is a combination critique and bitch session about critiques.

Ahem.

Rule number one. (Oh, hell! You can’t even state it as a declarative.) How long does it have to be to be considered ‘short?’

At one extreme, there’s a new phenomenon called ‘flash fiction.’ I know, I just heard of this myself. Apparently Glimmer Train has a category among their various writing contests called “very short fiction.” Less than 3000 words. The good old wikipedia has an article on flash fiction. This little bit of wisdom mentions that the cut-off for ‘flash fiction’ is 1000 words. Above that and we have ‘sudden fiction.’ There is information, too, about the ‘micro’ category, or ‘the short short story.’ Some markets, we learn, have a cut-off of 300 words! (Once again, at about 575 words, my little tale of a dude getting ripped off for his groceries is on the verbose side!)

So, just to set the tone for the bitch about rules: let’s get it right out there that the lower limit on the word count must be one. If you are a genius, a one word story might be just the thing to assure fame and fortune. Seems to me there is a story that Pete Seeger used to tell about gathering all the world’s wisdom into a single word. The word was ‘maybe.’

“Maybe” Harper’s will publish your 10,000 word (or single word) short fiction, but it’s not bloody likely. This fine publication has an upper limit of 5,000 words for short fiction. I think that the New Yorker will allow the writer of a story 6,000 words. The afore-mentioned Glimmer Train will take a mammoth 20,000 words in the “fiction open” category. By the time you’ve lovingly cranked out 40,000 words, you have most likely written a novella, a short novel, or a novellette. Good luck selling that sucker, if the publishing legends are true. But we’re (I’m) not bitching so much about the selling at the moment, I’m bitching about the terminology. There’s more to a whatchamacallit than what you might call it. (Or how many words it has, end to end.)


Rule number two: a short story has no more than four characters.

Yes, and the characters have Greek roles to play. (No, we’re not talking sex games here, unfortunately.) There should be a ‘protagonist.’ He’s the hero. (Or heroine.) Opposing the hero’s every good deed, good intention, or tendency to ‘improve,’ is the ‘antagonist.’ Even in the Greek drama, the antagonist could be a force or group of entities (human or otherwise) opposing the protagonist. So in current fiction: the hero can confront any sort of demons, evil doers, or (if one allows the reversal of roles) saints and inspirations, so long as something happens. In short fiction, a cast of thousands is not allowed. It is not hard to see why. If the word count is limited, there will not be space for anything more than a list of meaningless names if very many characters pop up. Let’s allow for a crowd to be counted as a ‘thing’ or a non-character. Many authors published in the coveted national markets for fiction violate this ‘four person’ rule as a matter of routine. Subsidiary characters often exceed this number, which is clearly arbitrary. Is there a low number, while we’re wondering? Less than one? Can there be a story about nobody? Our one word story, the one where ‘maybe’ figured prominently, is such a tale. It lacks conflict, perhaps. Even the epigrammatic “he died” needs some fleshing out. (This remains a popular gambit in fiction. Death makes a good antagonist.)

Rule number three: a short story should contain a narrative arc in which conflict escalates and is resolved.

Yes. I knew there was something wrong with our ‘story so far.’ “He died, maybe,” may have an inherent conflict, but it lacks a resolution. As a musician, I’ve always been a fan of the tension and resolution of traditional tonal harmony. It’s old school. Even when considered as the language of popular idioms, the tonal materials are used quite often (even most often) without the buildup of tension that, say, Beethoven arrives at. Just when you are willing to agree that it is the tension and resolution that keeps one turning the pages of a potboiler or cliffhanger, a deeper analysis presents its ice-bergian head. It is not, to return to the music metaphor for a moment, Beethoven’s usage of tonal materials per se that leads to the tension. It is more the buildup of expectation and the drawing out of the resolution of that expectation that gives the sturm and drang its momentum. Music is easy, because it doesn’t have to mean anyting that does not refer to itself. It employs an arbitrary language that derives its meaning purely from useage. (Debatable. So debate me!) If one doesn’t “speak the language,” one can’t get the jokes. Confilict is in the mind of the beholder. A lot of beholders are willing to turn the pages of the works of Stephen King. I guess my main bitch about the conflict/resolution rule is that the concept requires subjective guesswork. Like word count and number of characters, it all depends upon one’s proclivities and point of view to seem workable. Your editor will differ. It’s important that you find one willing to entertain your notion. Without a potential outlet, your just…writing a blog!

With these dubious rules in mind, let’s rip up the story in my previous post. I’ll put those fun little irrelevant details in italics.

We start by wasting word count on what’s called a “superscription.” In this instance the superscription is racially charged “poetry.” Poetry is in quotes because god only knows we have no idea what poetry really is. And BTW, the poetry is the only thing about this little piece that actually appears in my 1977 journal. It is the only item under “July 4th.” We’re not going to worry too much about word count, because we think this piece  is slender enough at a mere 500 some words. Getting down to the 300 word upper limit for somebody’s idea of ‘micro’ is not of interest. Rather, we think, we might want to beef it up some. We’re also not going to worry too much about “racially charged” as an epithet. At present, the mere presence of certain words in public (and private to the extent that the writer or speaker gets caught out and is famous) discourse raises the hackles of the chattering class. We feel fairly isolated by our lack notoriety. So far. We also object to the hypersensitivity. Hey. I used the word ‘black’ in referring to ‘the rulers of jungle streets.’ It stated the reality of that street in Boston. ‘Jungle’ is a metaphor. In those days, certain areas were called ‘combat zones.’ Another metaphor. We won’t be concerned.


Having cleared the word count, let’s count the characters. I count four: The narrator (Cal), the cool black dude, Tyler (the owner of the garage down the street), and a prostitute. Let’s characterize the characters while we’re at it. Cal’s the protagonist. The black dude’s the antagonist. The others are there for what? Flavor? (But you might count five. Who is “C” the father he never had? Another victim of the street life, we’re told.)

Plot. Well, it’s pretty much all plot. But is there any conflict? Back to the poetry. The poem, as mentioned, relates to the rulers of the street. What do the rulers want? They want money, more or less as a fealty. The poem goes on to suggest that everybody on the street is working it. The little list of characters represent the business relationships of an underworld. In the end, the whole poem seems to pivot in place on the word “cheesecake.” Cheesecake has a dual meaning. It refers to the pastry, of course, and also to the images of provocatively clad, sexually attractive women. (So not only are we racist, but also sexist.) What is the meaning of ‘fingers in the cheesecake?’ The image suggests both sex AND money, we would like to suppose, because of the presence of “the characters of the street” who are hooked, are hookers, and rulers. What’s “love” got to do with it? Nothing. Irony rears it’s crafty head.
The conflict might come in because this is the world our innocent hero inhabits, and it is not a comfortable fit. The plot describes how, on the way back from the grocer, our hero is robbed of his groceries by one of these denizens of the Back Bay Fens. He worries about being shot (or stabbed), and so he complies. He stops by his place of employment, the garage, and complains about his experience to his boss. The boss shares his own story. Our hero re-purchases his groceries and returns, being blessed by another denizen on the way (the prostitute). The story ends with the suggestion that there’s nothing to stop a repeat performance by the ruler, but there is the suggestion that this time, our hero has learned to brave the threat of violence.

It takes almost as much ink to summarize this plot than was expended in the “full scale” story! The question is: is there a sufficient catharsis? Does the conflict sufficiently move the story along? Is there any real conflict? Has the story made the hero’s conflict (fear, anyway) real enough? Do we need more words?

If we need more words, it would be to better set the scene. Some things the writer thinks are in the story may not in fact be. Does the reader know the Back Bay Fens? Maybe not, and likely shouldn’t have to. There’s going to have to be some revision.

Is there a rule, in short fiction about setting? Description?