Tag: Flash fiction

  • Retired Flash Fiction Story

    (This is an experiment of a flash fiction story that I decided to retire from submitting. Enjoy.)

    Airbag

    There was light, and then there was darkness. Maybe there was sound, but I think all I can remember hearing was the fear in my brain; As I was scared. Or was I screaming? Broken glass? I think so, and if that was true, then I don’t know how I didn’t get cut up. I hit my head, and banged up my back. There wasn’t any blood that you’d expect.

    What existed after, most likely before if only I had paid attention, was the feeling of floating, up and away – of relief that I was here and not in some other place, even though no rational person would want to be where I was, and that’s because they weren’t fully/completely aware of being alive in this reality, but now, or at least then – in the aftermath – I was present.

    When I was a child, growing up in the Cold War, knowing that at any second one of two nations could blow up the whole world; so many people lived in the pool of existential threat every day. Life could end at the push of a button, as that was modernity. But what I fixated on wasn’t necessarily that all life could end, but having to wait for it to end. Being told the missile was on the way, that in a matter of minutes I would be evaporated, but I had to wait for my impending death. That count down is what scared me. Sure, if you knew you had one day left, then you could get some stuff done. But with five minutes – I would just be left with my thoughts. My awful thoughts. Even if I tried to be constructive with my five minutes, I’d most likely use four of the minutes deciding what to do, and that last minute wouldn’t be enough time to accomplish it. But I know me, and I would spend five minutes kicking myself for all the things I didn’t do. Hating myself as the doom, the bomb, the endless end drew nearer. Not enjoying what I had, but regretting what was.

    The darkness did give way to the light once again. I opened my eyes. I looked around and made sure I was alive. On the side of a highway, having spun around, I was alive. Excitable, juiced, sweating yet cold. The Universe had expanded, only to contract back to the same place, and I was still there. The blue gray interstate, an airbag deflating – I had the acknowledgement of time.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Goodnight Tottenham, Goals, and Memorial Day Weekend

    (Sorry, Tennessee)

    And thus the 2022/23 Tottenham Hotspur season comes to a close. Sadly, just as I thought, Spurs lost their last home match to a clearly on the rise Brentford. Though Harry Kane had one of the most amazing goals I had seen in a very long time, it was all for not… This Sunday the Premiere League comes to an end, which has Tottenham playing an away match against Leeds. Though Leeds is sitting at second to last on the table, they do have something to play for. If they get a win with a Leicester loss or tie, and Everton loss, then Leeds will avoid relegation. So, as per normal for this season, Tottenham will lose this match. Which is an awful thing to say, but on paper, Spurs should win this one, no question. But they seem to give away all the easy matches. Then the real humiliation would be Brentford beating Man City (And Man City won the League, so they have nothing to play for) thus causing Tottenham to fall to 9th. Oof! What a season. I guess I’ll wait and see what this Summer brings, with a new manager and players, and also, let’s see who sticks around. In the meantime, I got European qualifying, MLS, and the Women’s World Cup.

    I do have two small goals for today. I want to finish up two flash pieces that I have been working on. AND, I want to submit to a couple of more online journals. I’ve been trying to do this all week, and today is the day.

    Memorial Day Weekend snuck up on me. Actually, all holidays this year have snuck up on me. I feel like I am running behind on all of this stuff. But being as it is Friday morning, we won’t be leaving the City. Also, it’s Taylor Swift Weekend at the Meadowlands, so stay the hell away from the George Washington Bridge and Northern New Jersey. One day, I just might get my life organized enough to plan a getaway for the family, and make a four-day weekend out of it. Until that, I just might be drinking a beer on the roof of my building.

  • Personal Review: Let Me Think by J. Robert Lennon

    I am embarrassed to say that I have no idea how Let Me Think by J Robert Lennon made it on my reading list. And my reading list is actually a wish list on my Amazon account. This was the book that was next up. I knew it was a collection of short stories, but other than that, I knew nothing about the author or any previous works. I was going in blind, but sometimes it’s good to be surprised.

    The collection is made up of flash pieces and short stories, broken up into five sections. There are two reoccurring stories; one about a marriage, and another about a cottage in the woods. The other thing that reoccurs in the collection is the theme of unhappy marriages. And I can’t prove it, but with the book being broken into five parts, I had the weird feeling that each section was to represent one of the five stages of grief. Again, no proof of that, but I couldn’t shake that idea.

    I liked Lennon’s writing right from the beginning of the collection. The first two pieces, “Girls” followed by “Boys” showed that Lennon has a sense of humor, and likes to play with the form of a short story. Witty, this guy’s witty, and the sense of playfulness and fun comes right through. That’s not to say that the none of the stories take on a serious tone, as some do, but experimentation is happening here as well. The “cottage” stories do take on an adult tone, but they also lean into a slight thread of absurdism, or maybe fanciful is the better word to use. Yet, the best example of this tone is the story “Subject Verb” which is told in that very simple sentence structure; just a subject and a verb. It is a format that is brutal in its simplicity, but Lennon makes it an effective tool for storytelling.

    In the end, the collection was enjoyable and entertaining, but what I was left with, and made me the happiest, was that this was a book by a writer who is trying to find new ways to tell a story. The pieces don’t follow the hero cycle, or have a hook in the first line, or even try to tie up the narrative with a button. Now, some of the stories do the afore mentioned things, but the ones that don’t, the stories that try, and poke and prod at what a narrative can be – how short can a story be – how many words are needed to create an emotional pay off? THAT was the excitement of reading this collection – it was different, and it was refreshing without feeling labored to be different.

  • Things Have Changed

    I submitted a flash fiction story to a bunch of magazines on Friday. I do this from time to time. I get impatient with actually crafting something, and get it into my head that I should send something out to as many publications as possible. And then wait.

    I do like emailing out my work. I think it is easier for all parties. Quicker responses, easier to read, no piles of paper. I never liked the old system.

    Back in college, I mailed out so many manila envelopes with self-addressed stamped envelopes included. The people at the local post office got to know me pretty well, and I would need to get the query packages weighted to be mailed each time. I stood in a lot of lines. And then the waiting, and checking the mail. I really hated that. Not only did it cost me money, but there were some submissions that I never got a response from.

    At least now, I always get a response.

  • Short Story Review: “My Wonderful Description of Flowers” by Danielle Dutton

    (The short story “My Wonderful Description of Flowers” by Danielle Dutton appeared in the December 5th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (I can’t help it; I spoil this story…)

    Photograph by Ioulex for The New Yorker

    I have been getting into short short stories, and flash fiction. What I am enjoying about these smaller works is that is that I feel like most of the writers are playing with the short story form, and experimenting with what can work when it comes to narrative. Maybe this is a reflection of the digital age, and texting – use as few words as possible and get to the point.

    “My Wonderful Description of Flowers” by Danielle Dutton is not a flash fiction piece, but for The New Yorker, it is a shorter short story at just three pages. There is no plot to this story, and I think that was purposeful. The story functions like a dream, and in the first paragraph, the narrator tells us that her husband had a dream, though he very rarely dreams. And with that framing, the story is on its way. There are a few narrative threads, or lines that weave in and out of the story; the husband not returning a text message, their child playing a video game that doesn’t seem to be like any type of normal game, a lecture and reception, a stranger who had corresponded with the narrator, and then a train ride that leads to the end of the line.

    The prose is lovely, light, and ethereal in the sense that it flows back and forth from narrative threads, which could only work together in a dream. What keeps the narrative moving forward is the growing frustration with the messages not being returned, and the train literally running toward the end of the line. These two threads do function as the device that creates the rising action, so the story has the feeling of a plot, or at least that a climax is coming. Dutton has created this frame for the story to live in, and then she goes on to fill spaces with movements, gestures, actions and observations. It’s a wonderful experiment in testing what a narrative can be, and be used to hold a story together. And like a good guest, the story knows not to overstay its welcome, and gives an ending that isn’t climatic, but is satisfying as it fits within the atmosphere of this dream-like world.

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