I’m taking a writing mini-course that meets on Tuesday nights. It’s called The Art of Brevity. It’s by a lovely man named Grant Faulkner who, without any apparent irony, wrote a 173 page, small print book by the same name.
Grant is the co-founder of the journal 100 Word Story which showcases literary works of exactly one hundred words.
In the age of Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram posts, it’s easy to scoff at short works—to minimize the minimal, if you will. But the art and skill of telling an entire story in just a few words is interesting to me.
When I was in school I was constantly berated by teachers telling me I had to “write more.”
“More?” I’d say, “But I said everything I wanted to!”
“Well you can’t turn in a fifteen-hundred word essay when we asked for a two thousand word essay.”
Where were eye roll emojis when we needed them?
My first exam in college took place in an auditorium with seven hundred students. Walking into the hall, we picked up the requisite blue paper booklets in which to write our answers. I took one, and the professor said, “You’re going to need more than that.”
I watched as the other students grabbed five and six a piece. I took a few more, but by the end of the exam I’d only filled two blue books. I was also done second or third among all those students. I’d made the mistake of sitting far up and back in the auditorium. I walked my way down, tier by tier, to hand my work in under the withering gaze of the professor, who said, when I finally gave them to him, “You sure?”
“Yes,” I responded, “I mean, I answered everything…”
“Mm.”
I went back to my room sure I’d flunked out of college my first semester. I got a B. It felt grudging.
It is possible I’m just lazy. But I do tend to skip over the blablabla in books when I’m reading, because would you get to the point, already. I basically don’t give a shit what color green the sea was, I care that there was a sea. But only if that matters. If you’re on a boat that's going under, do I have to know what type of body of water it’s sinking into?
Yes, if it’s part of the story. If the voyage isn’t part of the story, then not really.
Unless it’s got monsters in it. If you’re sinking into Loch Ness, I definitely want to know that.
Slight aside: I was in a fancy French restaurant in Paris once, and ordered escargot. Put enough butter, garlic, and parsley on something, I’ll eat it.
I’ve had escargot many times, and it’s not particularly great, but it’s fine, and it’s often the only way to get that garlic butter to dip your bread in, which is the entire point. This time, however, the escargot were rubbery, tinny, and downright unpleasant.
I’m not someone who sends back food unless I think it’s poison, or unless the restaurant has pissed me off in some way and I want to annoy, so I just mopped up the garlic butter with my bread and left the chewy creatures in their homes to, for all I knew, be repurposed as erasers or anti-riot ordnance.
“Is something wrong, Madame?” the concerned waiter asked when he came by and saw my plate. He said this in French, which was reasonable as we were in Paris, but my French is terrible.
“No,” I’m sure I said, “I just prefer the sauce,” I probably said, “And I don’t like the escargot very much.”
My French friends will understand when I say he gave me a French look and asked, “Is this Madame’s first time eating escargot?”
“This is not Madame’s first time eating escargot,” I said, “But it is Madame’s first time eating le monstre du Loch Ness, and je ne l'aime pas,” which, it turns out, is I don’t like him, not it. I have nothing against Nessie personally, but I think my message was clear regardless. The waiter took my plate away without another word. But he didn’t take it off the bill.
Back to the course.
Writing complete pieces in short form is commonly referred to as “flash,” and there are rules. I wrote about it once before, and as I said then, “What makes something “flash?” It’s evocative, surprising writing of varied, usually short lengths, between 50 and 1,000 words, welcoming of risk and experiment that leaves the reader feeling something deeper than what the words on the page might immediately suggest.”
Miles Davis once said, “It’s not the notes you play, it’s the notes you don’t play.” He also said, “It’s not the note you play that’s the wrong note – it’s the note you play afterwards that makes it right or wrong.”
Flash is very much like that, though to me less annoying than jazz. It's about making space in the narrative for the reader to fill in the blanks without consciously doing so. To do that, you have to leave out the didactic notes.
That’s harder than it should be.
Last week in class we were given a 100 word story prompt, with 2 minutes to brainstorm, 3 minutes to write, 5 minutes to edit. The prompt was this photo:
I came up with this, after the five-minute editing session allowed me to get it to exactly one hundred words:
Hialeah had seemed exotic once, when palm trees meant parrots and coconuts instead of drug runs, low cash, and sticky thighs. Swamp rot, hurricanes, and transients had taken their toll on all of it; the town, her, and the motel. An escape could turn into a hideout with a few rough years and the wrong crowd.
She looked at the chairs drowning in the pool. No one would save them. In a year they’d be covered in aquatic Spanish moss like some landlocked Titanic memorial. There’d be no survivors here, either.
She opened a beer and walked to the street.
I don’t really know if that satisfies the requirements for the assignment. By Tuesday evening I’m to edit it and hand it in. I’m sending this out on Tuesday morning, US time. I haven’t started editing, because what am I editing for? So I’m calling it art and done. I’ll learn through the critique.
Scrolling Facebook this week I saw this meme.
There are many ways to tell a story in few words. This required none.
Well, I thought. Something to aspire to!
Morning Teaistisms
All the pink and white petals floating and falling from the trees (OK, maybe I do care what color sea we sank in), and the occasional sunny, warm days bring to mind Jeju Island green teas, which I wrote about early in this Substack’s existence. In particular, it makes me think of the green tea with plum blossoms, a springy-sounding tea if there ever was one. It’s light, not floral at all, and the plum blossoms cut the grassiness that green tea can have at times.
Quite delicious, and if you’re someone who likes the slap-in-the-face bitter-sourness of kumquats, as I do, it smoothes that slap in a delightful way when you pair them for a mid-day or mid-afternoon snack.
I'd give you an A.
Marjie, I am also someone who skips description when reading and since I’m a TV writer, I get to skip it when writing too!