If you have not met flash fiction before, you are in for a treat. If you have, here is yet another attempt to define it, to pin down this most slippery of beasts. And because I am a writer, I’ll define it like this:
Imagine standing at the open door of a room where all is in darkness, and you can see nothing. Imagine someone flicking on the lights - to the count of one, two - then plunging the room back into darkness. You didn’t have time to take in much, but you know exactly what room this is, now - a bedroom, an operating theatre, a kitchen, a courtroom. Odds are, you also remember a few things about the room - something about the bed, for example - something out of place? Something odd about that operating theatre... what was that on the floor in the corner? The kitchen - who was that peering back at you from the window? The courtroom - was that a small boy crying in the dock? But this is today - we don’t put small boys on trial? Do we?
A great piece of flash fiction creates a complete world in very few words, draws you in, and makes you complicit. You become the creator too, in partnership, filling in the gaps the writer leaves behind, your brain often adding the reasons, the detail. And because it is, to some extent, ‘yours’, it has a lasting effect. It may be very short - usually under 300 words, or 500 words, sometimes under 1000, sometimes as little as 100 or even 50 - but it packs a punch beyond its weight.
Do not be tricked into thinking a flash has to therefore ignore the craft of fiction. If anything, the fewer words you have to play with, the harder it is to create something strong. But think of an old Oriental painting, a flower, a tree, a horse, made in a few brushstrokes. In a great flash piece, you will find living characters created with those brushstrokes. A setting created thanks to a single wall. A flash of narrative lit up, then extinguished, leaving the reader wondering, but satisfied - because a good flash is never incomplete.
Perhaps the greatest asset for a flash writer is the ability to create character through voice. That skill is well worth exploring, and the best exploration is either through just doing it, or by reading what others do. So - here are some great writers of flash, some well known, others not, or not yet... many are writing colleagues of mine, and I know their work well. Do look them up, do some research of your own, read the wonderful flash journals. A lot can be found online.
David Gaffney
Dan Rhodes
Sara Crowley
Aimee Bender
Tania Hershman
Calum Kerr
Nik Perring
Randall Brown
Etgar Keret
And finally - flash is not only an end in itself, the art of flash writing is also a wonderful liberating creative process. I always begin writing workshops with this exercise - so have fun! I call it Flash Cricket - because you have to bowl and field words.
Flash Cricket:
Here is a list of twenty random words. Don’t read them too closely - but cut and paste onto a fresh document, save and close. When you have twenty minutes to spare, make a cuppa or something stronger, and get ready to write. Only when you are ready, open the document, glance at that first word, and start writing, immediately. No planning in advance. And every few sentences, pick up the next word, incorporating that into the flow. Make it happen - make those words fit - it will feel absolutely nuts, but it is only a bit of fun - and you will end up with unplanned, surprising twists and turns, strange connections.
Shadows
Flint
Shimmer
Stealth
Jealousy
Cashew
Priest
Oil
Mother
Steely
Champagne
Bergamot
Wool
Mississippi
Tiger
Keyring
Hamburger
Candlewax
Absolution
Coast
Who knows, maybe a fascinating character will have wandered into the room while you weren’t looking. By the way, you can play this game with other writers easily. Enjoy! And best wishes with all your writing.
Follow @vanessagebbie on Twitter, and check each day for fun #StoryGym writing prompts.
I just had to drop in to say well done to Lin - that piece had me laughing out loud - especially the "games that included dripping candlewax" - ha! Thank you for playing, and for sharing the results.
A very clever combination of the given words into a thought-provoking snippet. It gives spooky, sophisticated, and frighening atmospheres. At first it conveys rather a jumble of periods and ideas but on re-reading, and finishing, the piece it clarifies into a well contrived and logical story that could be sucessfully expanded.
Daphne Martin
The shadows lengthened in the room as the early evening sun filtered through the large window. Startled, she turned toward the sound of a flint striking to form a small flame that made his face shimmer in the half light. He stood still, watching her discomfort and she was glad he was not close enough to see the sudden flush that reddened her face. She was still fired up with the jealousy that had caused her to run from the dining room as the party started their desert of cashew nut soufflé. The Priest’s insistence of continuing the discussions of the wedding plans had been too much to bear, and she knew they would all be burning the midnight oil as they droned on about the service. Julia’s Mother had given her steely glances, enjoying every moment, knowing she was in pieces. Eventually the heady champagne and sickly smell of Julia’s Bergamot butter body lotion had become too much and she had run from the room.
Now here he was standing before her trying to pull the wool over her eyes with his pretence of loving that stupid girl. Julia would never agree to his games. Would that he had died on the boat that sank in the Mississippi, or been raved by the tiger that now covered the floor by the fireplace now staring into the room with sightless eyes. He strode over to her and shook a keyring before her face, an invitation to join him in his room later. Disgusted she turned away, but he bent his head to her neck and she felt the light brush of his kiss. ‘I’ll order you a hamburger after,’ he whispered. Damn him to hell, he knew she would be powerless to fight and the thought of his dominant games that included dripping candlewax made her weak at the knees. She would need to visit the priest in the morning to beg for absolution yet again. Yes she would meet him, join in his fun of using her because he knew that only by being near him could she feel free enough to coast into the abandonment her body craved.