Red's Wrap
Happiness. It's relative.
The Weird Magic of Short Story Writing
I woke up at five this morning trying to untie the knot of a short story I am writing.
It’s a surreal story, probably about dementia or mental illness or some inability to sort out the real from imagined. Of course, the central character (the only character) is an old woman who has a place on Lake Superior where she has finely honed her eccentricities, including an enormous desire to be left alone.
I’d gotten far enough into the story that I’d trapped my only character in her kitchen with a large figure made of cement blocks that had a terrible habit of talking too much. I had no idea how to get her out of the kitchen or where she would go when she left. The story was frozen in that moment – preposterous and pointless.
In our writing group, we used to ask the question “What is this story about?” I went last because I often didn’t know what others’ stories were about, and almost never what my own were about. Then, listening to everyone, I’d see all the nuance and deeper meaning that had escaped me in my own analysis. This was most useful when people critiqued my writing since it put meat on bones that I’d let just drop on the floor.
There are people who write stories who know in advance what their stories are about. I’m not one of them. I don’t know what I’m doing. More to the point, neither do my characters or character, in this case. They are just flailing about, snatching up one wild hair after another until, oh, a plot emerges.
I wrote a story that won third place in an important contest. In the story, I referenced a wolf twice, but the editor told me that the rule was something like that had to be mentioned three times. (I think it was Chekhov who made this rule.) So, I had the wolf make another appearance at the end and then the story became about the wolf, which it may have been all along and only the editor knew that.
What I’m getting at is with this short story writing, the whole process is just wild, unplanned weaving. The old lady trapped in the kitchen with the cement block thing – something completely unpredictable and unreasonable is going to happen. And I have no idea what it is.
What I do know is that the story won’t stay unfinished. It will, amazingly, finish itself when I’m not looking.
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Snow Door | wisconsinacademy.org
Listen to Jan read her essay “Billy” presented on WUWM’s Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “At the Breakfast Bar” on WUWM Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “The Parish Hall,” on WUWM Lake Effect
“Fury Cannot Touch Me,” Modern Love, NYT, 9/29/11
Love that concept of the story finishing itself when you’re not looking! It sounds like you truly enjoy your process as much as the result. 🙂