For those of you that read this blog, and follow me on Twitter/X (all two of you), then you know that I had an announcement yesterday, which was that Rejection Letters published a piece of mine – “Memorably Forgettable.” I have been a fan of this journal for a while, and I really appreciate that they included me in their publication; very cool.
And as such, I checked off a box on my list of goals for this year – Get One Story Accepted.
I was prepared to get deep in rejections for this year, as I have received 50 of them so far. I do prescribe to the “100 No’s Before 1 Yes” theory, and as such still feel like there is a lot of rejection out there for me to receive yet. (My Submittable cup runneth over…)
But, more importantly, I gotta get back to work. I still got a blog to write, a journal to fill up, and a corner in my apartment to sit in and try to make some stories work. And I should be reading more, to be honest.
As a kid who grew up in the 90’s, I am a sucker for slacker lit. You know, meandering stories, aloof narrators, whacky characters, and a general revelry for nothing happening… you know, whatever… Perhaps Kerouac created this genre of fiction with On the Road and Dharma Bums. And it’s a tough genre to execute. The form appears antithetical to the general format of short fiction and novels, as slacker lit just wants to stay mellow and float on down the road, but to work effectively, it still needs a climax. And it pains me to say this about “I Am Pizza Rat” by Han Ong, which is a charming and enjoyable short story, but lacks an effective climax, and leaves the end of the piece feeling flat.
And I liked this story and the writing. The narrator is a fifty-one year old struggling writer who lives in New York City, but is out in San Mateo, California taking care of his seventy-six father who recently had a fall and is recovering. The writing has just the right tone of sadness and depression in it, but also a touch of irony and humor which never lets the story go too far in the dark corners. We meet the instructor of a FALLING NATURALLY class, and his pot selling brother, Bun (pronounced “Boon”) the African nurse, members of a Gilbert and Sullivan Group, and the idiosyncratic routine of an elderly father. And there are animal videos. But at its core is a father and son story, and slowly the life of the father is revealed, and the trauma he experienced, and how he made imperfect efforts not to pass that along to his son. And the son is aware that his father tried, and mostly succeed, at ending this cycle of trauma.
This is all great stuff, which makes the climax all the more disappointing. I read the story twice, and decided that the climax is the last paragraph of the second to last section. See, the father asks the son where he goes when the nurse comes to the house, and the son replies that he goes to the university library and has started writing again, thus gaining his confidence back. Then the narrator goes on to say in the same paragraph, “In stories, books, I’m a sucker for the moment when the dormant character awakens.” As if this ironic “wink and a nudge” of a line is to suffice as the “realization moment” in the “Hero Cycle” where the hero has changed from the events of the story, thus leading to the resolution. Unfortunately, this lands hollow as the action is told to us, and not shown. This choice feels lazy in an otherwise active slacker story.
Look, endings are hard, and I don’t believe this ending “ruins” the story. It’s just more like a record scratch in an otherwise very good song. There are moments and observations in here that Han Ong shows a deft hand with. Especially with the father/son relationship, which is the core reason I would recommend reading this story.
I love short stories, just in case you weren’t aware. It’s an art form that has an endless well-spring of inspiration and creativity due to the uniqueness of each and every author who attempts to create a story. And I also know that a story can be well written and honest, and at the same time, not be my cup of tea. It is not the fault of the author or the story, as I feel I can objectively read a story, understand and appreciate its qualities, and also know that the story isn’t for me.
“The Choc-Ice Woman” by Mary Costello is a good story. It’s well written, honest, smart, pulls in many different ideas, synthesizing them into a cohesive through line, which arrives at a conclusion that is satisfying for what the story was attempting to accomplish. But the story didn’t resonate with me, when I felt that it should have.
I spent time contemplating this, even re-read the story, and I can’t fault Costello or the piece. Perhaps it is a tad long (I’ll talk about that in a minute) but it never felt like the story was wasting my time. Which has led me to believe that the fault lies with my stars, and not the piece or the author. Thus I am feeling disappointed in myself.
“The Choc-Ice Woman” deals with failure, infidelity, loss, death, even love, forgiveness and acceptance. All good themes when it comes to a short story, and it should be read, which is why I am recommending it. The story is structured with a present timeline which is interspersed with flashbacks, thoughts and insights of past events and characters thus building up the dramatic tension of the present timeline. This structure is handled smartly and works effectively. There is a strong feeling of pathos and loss in the story that never overwhelms the narrative, no wallowing here, but felt more like the melancholy that it is to be an adult who has made decisions in life; where regret is never too far away.
And still I felt detached from it all, but that’s on me, and I can admit that.
(The last thing that I do want to say about the piece is that it does take it’s time, and I like that Costello did that. I have a very bad feeling that if a student, or member of a writer’s workshop, had brought this in, it would be critiqued to death for being too long. I would like to stand up and say that writers should take their time, and not rush things. I feel short fiction is being done to death with “cutting to the chase,” or eliminating all details for the sake of making stories move faster – as if speed of narrative makes your writing better. Or simplifying down to the edge nothingness is more meaningful – sometimes less is actually less. Have courage writers! Be not afraid to write more and take your time!)
(The short story “Heart” by Shuang Xuetao appeared in the October 9th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)
Illustration by Sally Deng
If you write a story about a parent/child relationship, and then throw in a dying parent, you pretty much are half way to claiming a small place in my heart. My logically analytical side gets thrown out the window, and I am running on emotions. And let’s be honest, if you’re creating art, you want people to have an emotional reaction – it’s like the whole point. I say this because I can be completely biased when it comes to certain subject matters, which can complicate things when I try to review short stories from an objective place.
Which is why it’s strange for me to say that I didn’t feel an emotional connection to “Heart” by Shuang Xuetao. This is a fine story, well written, engaging, and just odd enough to keep me intrigued with what was happening. And as I was reading this piece, I kept expecting it to “click” into place and tap that raw parent/child emotion in me, but it never came. But I don’t begrudge the story for this, nor am I left feeling that the story “misfired” in its execution. Oddly, I feel this might have been exactly the reaction the story was attempting to create in the reader.
The story mainly takes places on a medical bus that is driving late at night to Beijing. The passengers are an older man dying of heart disease, his son, a driver, and ER doctor who agreed to accompany the father and son. We learn from the narrator, who is the son, that the heart disease that is killing his father skips every other generation, meaning the son is immune from the fate of his father.
The tone of the story is straightforward, logical, and there are no literary flourishes. But the events in this story slightly graze the edge of surrealism – just slightly. It’s enough touches to make the story feel that it’s not completely in reality. But still I had to wonder why these touches were there. What did the father’s daily boxing routine really symbolize? Why was the driver sleeping as he drove the vehicle? Also, what about the doctor’s sleeping? Was this all a dream? And the need for the son to have to use the bathroom? Was there a meaning to the son’s self-described laziness and his recent decision to stop working, while the father worked every day; even when he retired, he went and found a new job to keep working? All of these questions left me feeling uncertain, unsettled, and wondering what I was supposed to make of this?
And then there is a moment in the story where the son wonders what he is supposed to do when his father does pass away. He thinks of all the work that will come with making the arrangements for a funeral; contacting family and people his father worked with, raising money to pay for it all, and cars for the procession. Then the son thinks that once his father is gone, that he will truly be alone and by himself. To that the narrator says, “I guess that’s what freedom looks like nowadays,…” A sobering, and heartbreaking realization, that can also feel overwhelming to the point where one can be left numb, and disconnected.
There isn’t one way to mourn, and that’s what “Heart” reminded me of. I don’t know what all of these pieces in this story amounted to, but I don’t think Shuang Xuetao is wrong for presenting that either, if that was the intention. Maybe not having a feeling right away is still a sort of feeling. Maybe.
(The short story “ProCess” by Abigail E. Myers appeared on September 26th, 2023 in Rejection Letters.)
image: MM Kaufman
I remember how when I was a kid, I was told in school that technology, someday, would solve all our problems, thus making the world a better and perfect place. My dad, when he was a kid in the 50’s, was told how there would be flying cars in 1980. Yeah, that never happened, but we sure did get loads of new tech which has changed the world – just no flying cars. Sometimes I think the real role of technology is to create new problems while solving old problems. The things that annoy us, will still annoy us, just not as much.
I feel that was the starting point with “ProCess” by Abigail E. Myers, a tight, efficient and humorous flash fiction piece in the form of a rejection letter. The rejection letter is from the App Store, informing the developer that their new app, “ProCess: The App for Funeral Processions” will not be accepted, with a suggestion of next steps for the developer.
What I enjoyed most with Myer’s piece was its full commitment to the flash form. Yes, the work is short, but this isn’t a short-short story; This isn’t an uber-condensed form of a hero cycle, or a quick character study. This is flash fiction in the form I like to see; quirky, unconventional, but a story that still moves from a starting point to an ending point, firmly rooted in honesty.
The quirkiness is apparent by this app for funeral processions, and it’s unconventional in the form of a rejection letter, but what I was most impressed with was how Myer’s moved the story forward. The building and movement of the piece is accomplished in the three bullet points which use syntax and formatting of the text to accomplish this goal. The first point is formatted normally with no additions, but in the second point, italicized letters are used to highlight the developers thoughts. By the third point, the italicized and normal formatting seems to have been reversed, implying an urgency and irratition toward the situation. It’s an effective choice that I didn’t notice on my first reading, but I felt its implication immediately. It causes the narrative to move towards a conclusion, which is the app store stating, “all must yield.”
I admit that I am thinking very hard about a very short flash fiction piece. Yet, when someone accomplish the feat of executing a very good story, in what I think is a great example of what makes flash fiction an original form of literature, it should be applauded. “ProCess” makes its point on how some situations cannot be avoided, even with technology, and that’s just life. A complete, honest thought, that rings true.
