What makes a story, a story? Flash Fiction has gained a lot of popularity lately. I once took a workshop where we wrote several different kinds of VERY short stories. Here’s one that had to be 69 words:

If you eat breakfast your day will be better. Are you kidding?

Nine-am. I was already exhausted. My son threw up on me. The car quit blocks from daycare.

Would a bagel make it all better?

Shoes – soaked.

Nylons – run.

Shirt – sweat-stained.

I sighed and stepped behind the counter. A customer approached. “How may I help you?”

“Can you direct me to a place with a really good breakfast?”

I like this, but is it a story? There is some character, very little setting, some conflict… Here’s one that had to be the personification of an object:

There was no X marking The Spot, but its color and size called attention to it just the same. The Spot put up with people gawking and their often curious or rude comments. It couldn’t help where it was, right there in the center of the living room. There for all to see.

Right after it appeared, birthed suddenly on a rainy fall day, there was much discussion by the woman of removing it. The Spot cringed and tried to shrink back when someone approached with their “sure fire” remedy for spot removal. Oh, the scrubbing, the spraying, the dousing with water, vinegar, and chemicals!

But The Spot hung on, gripping the carpet fibers, refusing to be removed. Refusing to let her forget. For it knew it had a purpose, a reason for being beyond being an object of discussion for visitors.

For awhile, the woman who owned the home had placed a round rug over the spot. A scratchy, wool thing. But because of its prominent location in the traffic patter, the rug caused more accidents than were acceptable. And she really didn’t need another accident.

More than a year passed and The Spot felt time creeping up on it. Age caused its color to fade and be less noticeable to the occupant. One day, a new woman came in and glared at the spot, her nose scrunched in disgust. “What is that?” the visitor asked.

“Just a spot,” the woman said.

“Is it wine? Did you try to remove it?”

The woman shrugged. “I’ve tried everything.”

“Catsup? Kool-Aid?”

The woman just shook her head.

“We’ll have to negotiate a carpet allowance. It will all have to be replaced,” the visitor proclaimed.

The woman nodded eagerly. She would be happy to sell the home and rid herself of the memories, excise the evidence.

The Spot wished it could wiggle and squirm or cry out—“I have a story to tell!”

But it was still, waiting, hoping someone would look closely. Someone would care enough to wonder about its history—its story to tell.

A story of anger and pain.

And murder.

What really makes a story? Can you really write a story with less than 1,000 words? What do you think?

Flash Me...

And make it short and quick.

Of course I'm talking about flash fiction.

Most of us writers, it seems, start in the same place: dabbling in short stories, poetry, personal reflections in our journals and the like.

Then some, like myself and my writing group peers, branch off into novelling some time after high school or college.

However, I only first heard the term flash fiction about two years ago and wondered what the heck it was.

For those of you wondering, it's a complete story in less than 1,000 words, generally . Wikipedia gives a decent overview and provides this often associated example (though I've heard it attributed to other authors as well as with the wording slightly different): six-word flash allegedly penned by Ernest Hemingway "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

I myself wanted to know more about writing flash fiction so recently partook in an excellent on-line flash fiction bootcamp hosted by Flash Me magazine.

After pure novelling for the past two-plus years, these folks put me to task taking accountability for every word I wrote.

Trying to write a whole story under 100k words seems hard enough...

But a whole story under 1,0o0 words or 100 words, or nano-length with 140 characters (thanks Twitter)? This feels impossible.

And yet it's not.

Think minimalist art. What's the bare minimum you can do to convey what's on your mind?

Example:

“Smile, Polly.”

“Nope.”

“Pretty please?” That’s when the damn parrot flew into my head.

I finally decided to quit my job at Pet Pics.

I was thinking about how much some people hate their jobs, but stay at them because they have to. Then I wondered what it'd take for some one to call it quits. I wanted to convey the frustration of the main character as well as the humor of the final-straw situation. I relied on Polly and parrot as cues to set up the final line without necessarily giving away the ending.

(Notice this description of what I was trying to do is easily two times as long as what I actually did.)

In the end, practicing writing complete flash fiction stories as a regular exercise can condition your skills as a novelist. It can help you 'see' the true value of each word you pick as well as keep you mindful of delivering the story line in a timely fashion.

If nothing else, a little diversity may be just what you need when you're mired in a dead-end chapter or seemingly endless edits.

So go ahead...and flash me.