Tag Archives: flash fiction

Meet Mark S. Bacon, my unexpected guest

Is this the real Mark Bacon? We may never know.

Only yesterday I spotted a suspiciously unsolicited email from someone  introducing himself as a ‘fellow writer and a Bacon’.  Call me stupid, but I always feel a kind of connection to a namesake of any kind, and so (call me stupider) I threw caution to the winds and opened it. Straight away I liked that he didn’t ask me to read his sci-fi-YA-fantasy novella, as many of my unsolicited emailers do. It also helped that he wrote me a polite letter  telling me about his family and his interests, and one that showed he’d bothered to look beyond the ‘contact’ page of this website. All of which persuades me he is neither an evil spammer nor a complete nutter but  just like he says a writer of flash fiction. Of course I could still be wrong, but now we are on first name terms and I know all about his tea-drinking and football-supporting habits. Even better, he is stepping straight in to the gap in my blog schedule (you didn’t know I had a gap? you didn’t know I had a schedule?) so it’s goodbye from me, and welcome to Mark S. Bacon, who shares no connection with me other than a name and a willingness to talk  – or in this case write. Watch out for the American spellings, by the way.  (Did I say? He’s from Nevada.)

Take it away, Mr. B.!

Flash, nano, sudden, quick or just very, very short fiction

By Mark S. Bacon

A short story by any other name would still be short.  But would it be flash fiction? A relatively new social phenomenon and literary discipline, flash fiction has multiplied in many directions and taken on many other names.  Yet a strict definition remains elusive. More than 300 publications are devoted to it. Universities across the English speaking world, from Stanford to Cambridge, are teaching it.  And notable writers from Ernest Hemingway to Raymond Carver excelled at the genre.   But what do we call it, and how long should the stories be?

Among the more than 300 flash fiction journals and magazines listed in Duotrope.com, a website that matches writers with publications, are a variety of other names for these tiny tales.  Nano fiction, fast fiction, micro fiction, sudden fiction, minute fiction, postcard fiction and even smoke-long fiction are some of the ways editors describe their stories.   The latter name comes from the idea that you can read a story in the time it takes to smoke a cigarette.  Academia seems to favor “flash fiction.”  The English Dept. course at Stanford University is called, Topics in Intermediate Fiction Writing: Flash Fiction.   At University of Cambridge it’s, Flash Fiction, Unlocking the Writer Within.

How long should it be?  That too, depends.   I became attracted to stories of exactly 100 words.   A friend of mine told me he had assigned 100-word stories as an exercise in a writers’ group he was leading.  It seemed a daunting assignment to write a complete story in only 100 words.  But I did it.  Packing in an intriguing beginning, a protagonist, a challenge and a satisfying conclusion made it all the more challenging to write, but also more rewarding.  Since then I’ve discovered an abundance of publications, such as “100 Word Story” and the “Boston Literary Magazine” that specialize in flash fiction of 100 words.

The 100-word limit is common.  It’s the length I choose for the stories in my book, “Cops, Crooks & Other Stories in 100 Words,” and the length required by many online publications.  But editors at dozens of other flash fiction publications have different ideas.   Some ask for 50-word stories.  For others it’s 55 words, 66 words, 75 words and a few limit writers to a number of characters.   At the other extreme, some anthologies and flash fiction contests look for stories under 1,000 words and some editors consider a 2,000-word story to be flash fiction.  Certainly you couldn’t read that in a flash, and the number of smokes you could finish doesn’t bear calculating.

No matter what you call them–other names include short shorts, quick fiction, skinny fiction, microstories and furious fiction–these literary tidbits make for fun, if short-lived, reading.

Cops, crooksThank you Mark. I have to say my excursions into flash fiction have been few and far between, but I do like the odd very short story as well as the short very odd story and will be taking a look at Mark’s writing soon either on his website - where there are more links to flash fiction sites) or in his e-book.

Meanwhile I’m remembering Are You Dave Gorman?  So any other Bacons out there?  Kevin? Francis? (oops, maybe not) … Don’t be shy!

I feel this show could run and run.

Small stones in a river

I can see that having another blog to look after is going to make it harder to keep up appearances here, so just in case anyone is missing me, I’m posting my first week of responses to January’s smallstone challenge. These have appeared mostly on Twitter, and I thought it would be good to keep a more permanent record.

Enjoy!

#1
Biding her time

#2
Today’s sun is a wan smile, ready to do battle or maybe just deceive.

#3
The van ahead of us hits water at speed and is engulfed in plumes of muddy feathers

#4
Noticing

#5
DH has dried the washing on the line. Impressed with the weather. Impressed with the man.

#6
A single pink-petalled rose, summer’s survivor, gives an awkward nod to the quick-budding magnolia, an unexpected bedfellow.

#7
Something not quite right at Sunday lunch. Roasters crispy, greens al dente, atmosphere you could cut with a knife.

Hopefully another set will soon be ready to join the river of stones.

Noticing

#smallstone no. 4

Today I walked to work, just for a change. The pub on the corner, The Salutation, is under new management. ‘Welcomes customers old and new,’ says the banner strung outside. On the adjacent wall is the pub sign, in quattrocento colours, an Annunciation. I’m as surprised as I think the management would be if an angel walked in.

Cowboy or Alien?

It’s just as well that Rachael gave us extra time for the second campaign challenge. 200 words to include imago, lacuna,miasma synchronicity and oscitate? It was off to the dictionary for me,  but when I got there, I wasn’t much farther forward!

The excellent and inventive efforts of other campaigners left me awestruck but
still hunting for ideas. What kind of piece could carry that vocabulary without
the ‘target’ words simply jumping off the page and hitting the reader right between the eyes?

As a last resort I thought I might do some kind of sci-fi pastiche – cue Dr. Who, a  sonic screw driver and as many long words as you like. Then I sat down
and typed the word Imago. As sometimes happens with writing, what followed wasn’t quite what I expected.

  Imago Jones

Imago Jones saddled up his horse and rode out into mainstreet, well aware of the miasma of sweat and stale liquor that followed in his wake, reminder of a night that had doubtless seen whoring as well as drinking but was now a mere lacuna in his groggy head. He tipped his battered stetson off his face. Well, it  hardly mattered that he stank.  Because no one was around.  Not one single soul.

How come? He was pretty damn sure it was Sunday. And the sun was high. Where were the churchgoers? Where was that busybody of a preacher who a week ago had stood at the church door hollering at the town’s lie-abeds? All the way to the end of the street, nobody stirred. The world was silent except for the mutter of his nag’s shoes on the dusty highway.

Ahead was the open road, the landscape of scrub and sequoia that stretched from here to who knows where. Should he look back? Imago stretched and yawned.  In his head, the place he had left behind gaped and oscitated. The township disappeared.

Synchronicity: time, space, imagination.

If there was one thing Imago Jones knew, you should never look back.

(200 words)

I’m still not sure I’ve got those words to fit, but if my cowboy  meets your approval, you can cast a vote for no 163 on the linky list that follows this post.

Thanks for looking!

As one door closes …

I’m actually a judge on Rachael Harrie’s first campaign challenge and so it seems only fair to post something of my own (which I assume others will judge!) before I  start looking at other posts. So with some (actually great) trepidation I’m posting my own 200 words beginning ‘The door swung open’. Yes, it invites horror, don’t you think, or at the very least suspense?

Well I rarely do flash fiction, and I never do horror, and so I’ve gone for something more domestic, (or should I say domesticated ?) Anyway, here it is. I’m running for cover.

The Fridge that Talked

The door swung open then closed again as Laura jammed her foot against it.

Bloody fridge, bloody door, it had been doing this for weeks. Only yesterday she’d got up to find the milk tepid and the bacon streaked with green. The whole lot had to go in the bin.

Today she sniffed the (new) carton of milk and switched on the kettle, but before she’d made the tea the door was doing its usual trick, daring her to give it another kick. She sat down on the floor, her back against the pesky door. Who did she know who fixed fridges?

From down here things looked even worse. The lino was torn, the neon tube spattered with insects that had crawled inside to die. She should make more effort, ring the landlord, buy a new light, for God’s sake.

As she got up, the fridge made another plea for attention. She gave it a long hard look. The landlord never answered his phone. Fixing things wasn’t her scene. There was a world out there, better than this.

The following day she packed and left.

In the flat, the door of the fridge swung closed of its own accord.

199 words

Perhaps I should have said, if anyone would like to record their appreciation of this attempt, you can do so via links at the end of the challenge post.

Who dares …

Good news this week of various kinds. First of all I was delighted to have a phone call on Friday telling me I’ve won third prize in the latest Writespace competition and so straight after this post I’m off to update my Success Stories page yet again ( twice in two weeks can’t be bad! )

How to Write Short Stories coverThe phone call ( from Della Galton, the competition judge and author of How to Write and Sell Short Stories ) also turned into a  conversation about wordcount and I’m now happy to be eating some of my earlier words on the matter. My prize-winning story actually came in at 1360 words (pretty close to the Writespace limit of 1500 )  but during my chat with Della she was emphatic that it’s not essential to get close to the limit as long as the story is a good one, pointing out that last year’s Bridport (limit 5000) was won by an entry of only 1000. This is very goood news for those of us who struggle to get over 2500, and all I can say is thank you to Della and Bridport here we come! But that’s a year away. Meanwhile Preparing for Winter will be  up on the Writespace website next month. 

Just to make Della’s point stick in my mind, the weekend’s next discovery was that the winner of the Bristol Prize (where my beloved Mouse Years failed to show) came in at less than 500 words.  I have to say this is even more of a surprise and one that I think definitely challenges convention.  350 in my book is ‘flash fiction’ and even if I did have any clogging up my writer’s drawer,  I doubt I would have submitted it to a ‘short story’ competition.

But challenging convention is a good thing and this should give huge encouragement to short-short fiction writers. At least we all know now that a limit is, as it says, a limit. In this competition (and in many others) there is no lower limit. Writers take note. And I am really looking forward to reading Valerie O’Riordan’s Mum’s the Word when my copy of the Bristol Anthology arrives.

Too much of a good thing?

A lot of ink (or electronic equivalent) has been spilt in debating the merits of the short story compared to the novel and pondering why it is less commercially successful as  a genre. To me the reasons are obvious. At risk of repeating what I may have said before, I enjoy reading a good short story, but the satisfaction it gives is of a different order to what’s gained from reading a novel. A short story will often have the feeling of a tour de force (of style or character or narration or all three), a sumptuous or piquant mouthful. A novel on the other hand will be less concentrated as a reading experience, but IMO,  more sustaining, more of a three course meal.

Of course I don’t always want a three course meal and how dull life would be without the occasional yummy cake or chunk of pizza. I think my problem lies with the short story collection or magazine. When I have the thing in my hand I want to read through it and this is always a mistake. Too many short stories at one go – like cakes and chocolate – are indigestible.

Tania HershmanWhat I’m getting around to is this week’s broadcasting first, Flash – five pieces of flash fiction each day in place of Radio 4’s short story slot. The author is Tania Hershman, a great writer (currently working at Bristol university) and pioneer of short fiction. The stories I’ve heard so far (from Tuesday) are all great. Using i-player I listened to them over two evenings. But I don’t think I would have liked the experience in real time. I had to stop the audio stream after the first one because I needed time to let ‘My mother is an upright piano’ sink in before moving on to the next one.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased this relatively new genre has been given air time, and I suppose the schedules make it hard to scatter these little gems throughout a day or week. But flashes of brilliance only occur in surrounding darkness. I would have liked them served individually, each in its own wrapper, like the best of Belgian chocolates.

Yum yum!

Writers old and new

My reading fest in Spain was highly enjoyable, though I preferred my old favourites to the new voices I took along. Margaret Drabble’s Sea Lady is an absorbing and evocative read. No big surprises in the plot, but a sheer delight for the beauty of the language and the air of quiet reflection, which is also what I’m admiring in Penelope Lively’s Making It Up, a collection of short stories loosely based on her own life experiences (or what they might have been). These are measured and mature pieces, picking out the little things that make people tick, and evoking times and places faultlessly. Her  Imjin River is one of the most understated and moving accounts I have read of a young man who finds himself unexpectedly in a war zone, while The Temple of Mithras, a sideways look at the underlying tensions on an archaeological dig, is hilariously believable. 

Writers like these, whose place in the literary cannon is already assured, remind me that good writing doesn’t need the bravura effects and hectic plotting that appear to be obligatory for anyone looking for a foothold in the market. And I envy them, not just for their skill, but also because I would like the time and space to follow my own writing instincts, which I think may be those of an ‘old’ writer rather than a new one.

 

On a different tack, I’m also feeling a bit cross with Macmillan New Writers. Being somewhat underwhelmed by Playing with the Moon I decided to check on how long ago it was since I had submitted my own MS – answer, many moons indeed. Re-reading their submission guidelines, however, I discover that no rejection letters are sent out. Well, pardon any lingering taste of sour grapes, but exactly what would it cost to send out a standard rejection email? Like any novelist, I am used to rejection, but to be completely ignored – isn’t that plain rude?

 

BTW my flash fiction on Pygmygiant is here.

On Pygmygiant’s shoulders

Sometimes Mslexia lies neglected on the coffee table for a few days, other times I leap on it and devour it in one. This month I’ve left the creative writing for a quiet moment, but spent an industrious evening checking out all the notices and links with a view to getting more work out there – and it worked! Soon after I contacted The Pygmy Giant with my one of my few efforts at flash fiction, they replied with a promise to publish – and soon. No payment (as if!) but it’s a neat site that promises to address the scarcity of UK short fiction on the web. A noble intent. I also applaud their taste! 

I’m off on holiday for a week or so, so keep an eye on their site for a piece called Brain Drain. It was inspired by a train journey I took while under the influence of far too much caffeine.