Internalizing the Short Form.

I think this is the one thing I regret not having done in the last eight years of writing. I’ve read a lot of short work, but for some reason the form hasn’t successfully grafted onto my brain. I want to believe that’s because I’ve always had big ideas or that I’ve always wanted an emotional element that you just can’t cover in under five thousand words—but these are really just excuses. Plenty of authors have achieved what I’ve wanted to do in much less than five thousand words. However, I think I’m finally getting it.

I’m going to go through some of the things I’m seeing now that I didn’t a few months ago. Some of these are things I knew, but didn’t quite know to the bone. Surface knowing and bone knowing is two different animals.

Write often and finish.

This one has been tough for me. I tend to ruminate on a story a lot. However, I’ve discovered I’m quite capable of working on two things at once. Especially if one of those things is a big project, like a novel, and the other is a small project, like a short story or poem. Now two seems to be my limit, but it also seems that I need to be working on two things to keep me motivated to get both done. I received early advice to just do one thing at a time. That was probably good, well intentioned advice, but it didn’t work for me. The litmus test gets down to how many words are you putting on the page and how many projects are you completing. Since I’ve been working on two things at once recently, I’m finishing a lot more.

Write fast.

This is something I’ve just recently started. I used to believe that if you weren’t bleeding over every word you weren’t really a writer. This is rubbish for me. I think I’m just now discovering how to play with voice because I’m writing fast. Additionally, I’ve discovered that you can oversaturate a work with visual imagery. It’s far better to have one strong visual per page than to have every paragraph become its own bit of perfect poetry. I’m not advocating sloppy writing, but you’d be amazed what you can do quickly. Learn to trust yourself.

Revise fast.

When you finish your first draft, give it a quick read aloud, make any obvious corrections you need to make, and then send it off to your critique group. And here is what I do that might make you cringe: If the work requires more than 25% revision to make it workable, it goes back on the clay pile. That’s right, if I can’t make the story work by only changing about 25% of it, the thing basically goes in the trash. Now my trash can is a place I swim around a lot to get ideas. So it isn’t really wasted. Additionally, you’ve probably learned something from that story. Move on. Start and finish the next one. Writers need to breed stories like roaches or they won’t survive.

Sketch it out.

I write treatments. That basically means that before I write the actual story I write a really, really fast version of the story out on a page or two. I break it into scenes and this is what I use to write from. I might revise the treatment for structure. I ask simple questions. Is there a clear goal? Do I make things hard on my protagonist? Is there a nice surprise in there somewhere? Do I need every scene here? That last one is important. The short I’m working on now came from an idea I had that led to the first scene, but now I don’t need it. It’s a beautiful scene, but it drags the rest of the story down—it’s got to go.

A short story can be a straight line. Focus on the one thing, the one character, the one important subject.

This is especially important when it comes to the story problem. I’ve had a bad habit of making story problems that are vague and emotional. Make it something physical. The physical and emotional might tie together, but there should be some physical thing that represents the story problem. I’ve tried writing stories that just take place in a character’s head. They can be pretty. You can have wonderful characterization, but the plot just doesn’t seem to work for these types of stories. I’m sure there is a market for this type of story, but you’re better off playing the numbers game and using the devices that work. Make the goal and story problems physical and point your protagonist to them. Let Fred handle the rest.

Write flash fiction. 4 pages. [1]Beginning, [2]middle and [1]end.

If you find yourself always writing long—like more than 10k—stop writing long. Write really short. I mean, 1k short. Flash fiction is a great way to see how you can get an idea in under a particular word count. Plus, if you do write long, you might find that attempting to write 1k actually gives you 3k. 3K is a short story. Congratulations, you just discovered how to write short.

Practice, practice, practice.

Don’t stop writing. Don’t give yourself a break. No really. Jay Lake advocates a story a week. I’m not quite to the point where I can do a story a week consistently, but it’s my goal. However, I am constantly writing. I’ll rewrite fairy tales if I can’t think of anything to write. I’ll mash Shakespeare and westerns if I can’t think of anything. I’ll write fan fiction if I have to, but I will continue to write.

Cut the seven stage plot down.

Start in the middle and hint at the beginning or ending. Focus on two or three parts of the seven stage plot. If you aren’t aware of the seven stage plot, just google plot skeleton. There are about four or five different versions. Pick your favorite. Learn what to keep and what you can trash. Try fitting the whole story into a few scenes—or write the whole thing out and then cut the beginning and the ending. Then see if you can gut out part of the middle. Experiment.

Don’t try to make it something it’s not.

This is one of my biggest problems. You can’t fit a novel’s worth of emotion into four thousand words. The short story is the teaser trailer not the epic film. You can make it beautiful, but it won’t be something it isn’t. It’s a kick in the crotch, not the whole fight.

Hopefully, this is helpful. Happy writing.