  Short Stories
This week: Edited by: Red Writing Hood <3  
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The short story is at an advantage over the novel, and can claim its nearer kinship to poetry, because it must be more concentrated, can be more visionary, and is not weighed down (as the novel is bound to be) by facts, explanation, or analysis. I do not mean to say that the short story is by any means exempt from the laws of narrative: it must observe them, but on its own terms. Elizabeth Bowen (1899-1973), British novelist, story writer, essayist, and memoirist; born in Ireland. Seven Winters, part 2, sect. 2, ch. 5 (1962). Source: bartleby.com
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LAST, BUT NEVER LEAST... Discussion
LAST MONTH: We talked about writing tight, word choice and good endings.
WHAT YOU HAD TO SAY:
Submitted By: Meg: Writes Daily in 2006 
Submitted Comment:
I try to get rid of that, just, only and any words that end in “ly” as you do. I also try to eliminate then (if action follows, it is implied), instead, would, could and was or other linking verbs (ie. was going). Most of these words aren't strengthening the piece.
Great additions to my "riff-raff" list!
Submitted By: Big Mike 2humble2bragbut...
Submitted Comment:
I'm glad you're focusing on flash fiction. I enjoyed the story of Ben. However, using the word "window" three times in a two-sentence paragraph seems awkward. Great nl!
Good catch!
More comments can be found below.
Last month I gave you my views on what was wrong with my flash fiction piece, so let's move on to YOUR pieces of flash fiction.
My threat of torturing you once again with my own work succeeded!  Our mailbag was filled with those brave enough to expose their work to a mass critique. I will feature TWO each month.
Question list recap:
--Do you feel as if you’ve really gotten to know the character(s)?
--Did they grow or change by the end of the story?
--Was there a conflict to overcome?
--Does one paragraph make you want to go on to the next?
--Does it set the scene?
--Does it have a plot?
--Does it have a climax?
--Does it have any denouement?
--Are there good word choices?
--Is the writing tight?
--Is there a good hook (ie. opening paragraph)
--Is there a good wrap up (avoid moralizing)?
Now for our stories; one is long and, to compensate, the other is much shorter. They are anonymous here but I will be featuring them in the editors picks next month (so we can give the authors time to edit if they wish).
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STORY A:
The old man moved slowly along the path, a lightweight aluminum folding chair in one hand, tackle box and fishing rod in the other. As he exited the woods of the hummock, he looked up and out across the wide expanse of water that was his destination. He’d fished here frequently; it was one of his favorite spots. The fishing wasn’t that good, but the access was easy and the setting spectacular. The wide bank was on an angle to the inland waterway, so the sun was not in his eyes as he sat. The small, mangrove-covered islands across from the bank were filled with egret, heron, and osprey. Pelicans dived in the distance, and porpoise and manatee were frequent visitors. He had often wondered why more people didn’t fish here; he usually ended up fishing alone. Probably because the fishing wasn’t all that good.
Shuffling over next to the water, he stopped and set down the tackle box and rod. He unfolded the chair and set it firmly into the coarse sand. Crouching beside it, he began readying his gear. He pulled on the line, testing the drag off the reel and setting it just right for the thin monofilament; inspected leader, line and hook to be sure they were in top shape; reset the bobber to the correct distance from the hook. He had always been a careful man, attentive to details. Even as an only child, he had been thought of as studious and meticulous. And perhaps overly cautious. He had disdained some of the rougher sports the children played, preferring games of fantasy and imagination. He could frequently be found in his own company, whispering to himself as he slew dragons or battled monsters. It was rare that his mother ever had to tell him to tidy his room; he liked everything in its place so he could find it easily when needed.
Unfolding a small packet of once-frozen shrimp, he carefully threaded half a shrimp onto his hook. The bait, inexpensive, was one of the few luxuries he allowed himself. That and the two beers he consumed daily at Ricky’s, where he maintained a reserved seat at the bar from 3:30 until 5:00. And the tip. He never forgot to leave fifty cents on the bar for whichever lovely young woman was working that day. He felt a little guilty about that. They were so young, so full of life, the daily tragedies they shared so insignificant. He flirted with them shamelessly. And they flirted back, secure in the knowledge they were safe from this now harmless old man. He knew they considered him harmless, but he did it anyway. It was only a game. There were occasions though, as he inspected the curve of their bodies while they bent over to pull a beer from the cooler, when he would truly ponder the possibilities. Hence the guilt; they were so very young and foolish. Or maybe he was just so very old.
He stood and deftly cast the bait out, watching the sun flash off the hook and leader as bobber, lead, and bait tumbled in crazy orbit around each other. It all landed in the exact spot he had chosen, causing a small splash; then only the bobber remained sitting proud upon the surface with circular ripples expanding ever outward. There had been a time when he had actually hunted fish, stalked them with live bait and no lead weight or bobber. Sneaking up and casting on them right where they were sure to take the bait. He had felt strong and smart, so clever to catch a fish that way. He had been proud of his talent; it had made him feel virile and masculine – the hunter able to provide. But that was another time. Today he was content to sit in the sun and watch the bobber as it wobbled up and down on the small wrinkles made by the breeze.
He removed a small spiked tube from his tackle box and imbedded it in the sand next to his chair. Placing the handle of the rod in it, he sat down. The short walk had tired him a little. He sighed heavily and removed a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket – the Camels that had been his daily companion for over half a century now. He had tried to give them up a time or two, but that was ages ago. Now he was resigned to the morning hack and obnoxious smell of stale smoke that hung ever-present in his small apartment. Besides, he liked smoking; it gave him comfort and enjoyment. It wasn’t as if he had to worry about cancer anymore. Not at his age.
As he smoked, he watched a gull hovering in the bright, clear sky over some prey in the murky depths below. What a glorious day to be on the water. At times like this, he felt so very alive and free. Young even; or ageless. He thought about all the years he’d spent tied to his job, working obsessively not because he wanted to, but because that’s what people did. He loved the freedom that retirement had brought, though money was extremely tight. People said you needed to find a hobby to keep you occupied. Well, he fished. Not compulsively or even really caring whether he caught anything, but just relaxing in the sun and reflecting. It was great that he often did catch something edible though, as he loved seafood and it helped with his meager budget.
He couldn’t think of anything in life he’d ever enjoyed more than being alone with his thoughts in this beautiful place. The backs and fins of two porpoise caught his eye in the mid-distance as they gracefully moved through the water in search of better feeding grounds. Two of them. He thought of his wife Grace, dead some twenty years now. They had been comfortable together; he had loved her deeply. But twenty years is a long time, and he found it difficult to remember now the feeling of holding her in his arms. He fondly remembered wonderful times with her – special dinners and trips, relaxed evenings at home, long nights of passion – but he had difficulty associating them with any particular feeling. Such a pity. She had been a wonderful woman and he knew she was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him.
He thought of his daughter, Margaret, who had left him at the much-too-young age of fifty-two, a little over five years ago. A smile touched his lips. At first, he hadn’t been able to think of her without a stabbing pain piercing his breast. But now he could remember her as a child and the woman she became, and take pleasure in the memories. Part of that had to do with the hours he had sat on a bank somewhere watching a bobber float up and down, thinking about her. They were both gone now and he was alone with only his thoughts for company. “Just like when I was a kid,” he whispered to himself, smiling again.
When it happened, it was quick. A single small grunt as his last breath left him was the only outward sign of the devastation that had suddenly occurred within his body. The stroke was so massive and destructive that signals from his brain were instantly cut. His beating heart, without changing rhythm, just suddenly stopped.
His hand holding the cigarette fell to the sand, the Camel rolling away. The gull that had been hovering in the air dived, hitting the water with hardly a splash, and emerged to fly off with a small fish wriggling in its beak. The porpoises, having found an appropriate spot, splashed and frolicked offshore while the cigarette burned slowly in the sand until the small tendrils of smoke eventually faded and stopped. The bobber drifted in the slight breeze and small, puffy white clouds passed by as the sun rose slowly in the sky.
Meanwhile, the old man sat there in his chair, his limp body soaking in the sun, still fishing. The small grimace he’d made while his body deserted him had softened into a slight smile. His open eyes were fixed in the distance, overlooking the peaceful tranquility of this idyllic setting.
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STORY B:
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“Go on, it will be good for you,” said Peter into his hands-free headset.
“Good for me or good for your commissions?” said Martha.
“Both. It’s a symbiotic relationship. In your case, it will be good for your portfolio.”
“I know I enjoy making money, but are you planning to reimburse me if it goes south?”
“If the thing sours, I’ll know it from the horse’s mouth right away. If the old man sells, I’ll give you a friendly heads up. You don’t get service like that anywhere else, do you?”
“That kind of arrangement was a no-no when I was a stock broker and when I was a director on the New York exchange. Are you trying to tell me things are different now?”
“Nah, but who would ever accuse you of anything? Your homespun image is bulletproof.”
“Well, that’s true. All right, I admit it. It’s a good thing. I’m in.”
“You made the right decision. What can go wrong?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Use the questions above to guide you and send me feedback on each (or just one) of the stories above. I will be sharing your feedback next month.
Next month: Mass Critique of our two stories; tell us YOUR take and I'll give you mine.
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TOPIC: Flash Fiction
EXCERPT: Everything was sleeping and eerily quiet. A little too quiet for me...
EXCERPT: Ultimately, Nick lost it. Completely.
EXCERPT: The Challenge! To turn Seven individual 50 word micro fiction stories into one larger, 350 Flash Fiction piece.
EXCERPT: Jake helped his wife, Emma, bring in the groceries from the car and began putting them away. “You bought the wrong toothpaste, Em,” he said holding up the box. “This isn’t Ever Bright.”
EXCERPT: But, I wanta be free, really free! Free to roam the neighborhood and maybe join the birds down at the post office for a party.
EXCERPT: It was such a big step. Finally having the courage to send Mark a Valentine's card... but had she got it right?
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Gotta question, answer, problem, solution, tip, trick, cheer, jeer, or extra million lying around?
If so, send it through the feedback section at the bottom of this newsletter OR click the little envelope next to my name Red Writing Hood <3 and send it through email.
COMMENTS ON MY LAST NEWSLETTER:
Submitted By: Brians Next Novel Almost Done!
Submitted Comment:
Thanks for the informative NL, Red! I am writing a short story I intend to send off to a literary magazine soon, and things like the Wuzzies, -ly words and assorted riff raff words are among things I have already looked out for, but need to be vigilant about eliminating before I submit. Thanks for the tips! 
Submitted By: Feywriter
Submitted Comment:
What length of short story is considered flash fiction?
Different publishers can consider different word lengths as flash fiction (always check your writer's guidelines) but a good rule of thumb is anything under 1000 words. I let my writing flow and then edit it down several hundred words. EXAMPLE: If I end up with around 1000 words, I try to edit it down to 750-ish.
Submitted By: Tiggy 
Submitted Comment:
Excellent newsletter, very informative and easy to read, good work 
Submitted By: Fletch
Submitted Comment:
This newsletter was very helpful and informative. You did a great job conveying all your ideas and the examples were great!
Take care, Joe
Submitted By: Natsplatt thanks RAOK!!
Submitted Comment:
Thanks for featuring my story Driving Storms in your newsletter! I always enjoy reading it anyway for the handy hints and tips, so it was a double pleasure to have my own story featured! Natsplatt
Submitted By: mateescu
Submitted Comment:
Hi, Red
I loved your letter, it's quite interesting. The reason I'm writing to you is the last comment that I see, by Wayne...I've had the same problem with my characters. I don't like describing people physically, I prefer letting the readers use their imagination. Unfortunatelly, the readers don't do that a lot, which makes me very sad:(( I just wanted to let Wayne know he's not alone..
keep writing, Misha
Submitted By: billwilcox
Submitted Comment:
What a fantastic newsletter, Red. Good writing comes from good strong words. This newsletter is a keeper. Thank you, W.D.
Submitted By: Nikola~Thankful 
Submitted Comment:
Holly, What a fun way to get your point across! I really enjoyed this NL and found it to be very helpful! ~Nikola
Submitted By: robi4711
Submitted Comment:
Again, another humorous instruction piece that has helped me no end. Thanks.
Submitted By: Puditat
Submitted Comment:
Nice editorial, Holly. Some great reminders and good basics for any writer. Good job!
Submitted By: russusred
Sumitted Comment:
Great newsletter - humour and analogy are two great ways to put information across.
Thanks, Cath
Thanks for the great feedback, everyone! Holly aka Red Writing Hood
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Short Stories: August 10, 2005 Issue [#548]
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