This week, we discussed short-short fiction. Below is a synopsis of that discussion, plus an example story.

Very short stories have been around for about as long as fiction has been written, but lately they have become much more popular. Maybe it's because we don't have as much time to read as we used to, maybe we've just grown lazy, or maybe it's just the latest fiction-writing fad. Whatever, the cause there is no doubt very short stories are "in."

Some people think very short stories are easier to get published because they don't take up much space in a publication. Editors can squeeze in more of these stories, and they may be easier to fit into a publication's layout. One thing for sure, if a publication decides to publish these "quick reads," more authors get into print, and that's good.

Some have called these short-short stories fiction for the TV generation, or fiction for the internet generation. However they are characterized, we have seen a lot more writers in our workshops getting interested in writing them. But don't think that just because such stories are very short they are easier to write. Getting all the required components of a good story (characterization, plot development, description) into fewer words requires real skill.

What qualifies as a short-short fiction story? Some say they can be as short as 250 words, others say a short-short could be as long as 4000 words. Okay, that gives us a range; but how many of the basic elements of a story can you squeeze into one of these very short stories? Maybe a better question is, which of the traditional elements of fiction are necessary to make it a real story? In other words, what can you leave out and still have a story? For students of fiction writing, maybe that is the most important question. The answer to that question requires some analysis of what comprises a story. (If they serve no other purpose, these very short stories can at least help us explore the basic elements of fiction.)

Let's say, at the very least, these very short stories should include the traditional beginning, middle, and end. How can that be accomplished in so few words? Clearly, each of the three components must be "compressed." But how do we "compress" a story without sacrificing quality? We'll go into that more later.

Here's another thing to think about: most stories have at least have one principle character. Therefore, we will need some character development. That also will use up some words. But wait a minute, if we develop a character enough to get the reader interested, is that enough to call it a story? Some would say yes, but others would say no, something has to challenge that character, something that puts the character in a situation in which he or she has to make a crucial decision. In the end, what constitutes "a story" may well be in the eye of the beholder (the reader).

So, if we say a story has to at least have a beginning, a middle, and an end, plus at least one fully developed character, how can that all be done in so few words? That leads us back to the concept of compressing. Each stage of the story has to be accomplished using fewer words. But be careful: the compressing process may tempt you to tell the reader the plot, rather than show it. You may be tempted to at least "set up" the situation for the reader by using only narration. Never a good idea in any length story.

Okay, if we want to create a "real" story using fewer words, how do we do it? One good compressing technique is to use dialogue. Dialogue is often used in very short stories because dialogue can carry the plot forward by having the characters in the story tell each other plot elements; that let's let the reader learn about story events by "eavesdrop." At the same time, dialogue efficiently reveals information about characters by showing how they speak, and what they like to talk about.

Character thought is another great way to characterize and reveal plot. As with dialogue, character thought can reveal story information to the reader, and at the same time, reveal a great deal of information about the character.

By using such "compressing" techniques, many types of stories can be turned into short-shorts. The example short-short story below uses the epistolary technique; that is, it's in the form of a letter. In this case, I am using the concept of a letter sent to an old friend to develop a character study. The letter is akin to character thought in that it reveals a great deal of information about the letter writer. (Many short-short stories are character-driven, meaning the plot is related to the character's motivations.) In this example, the supposed letter reveals information about the character by showing his unique style of near stream-of-consciousness writing. The story pretends to be a note explaining how to get to his house, but the way he describes the route intertwined with information about the houses and people along the route, reveals a great deal about the character's past and his perceptions of the world around him. (Read it and see if you feel like you got to know the character; that's the truest test of a character-driven story, short or not.)

So, you get the main idea: do the usual story-development methods, using any of the traditional story-writing techniques, but find a way to do it with a minimum of words. Oh, and avoid over-explaining; either the readers "get it," or they don't. And create subtext: nowhere is subtext more important than in a short-short: what is not said (what is "between the lines") is often as important as what is said.

The compact nature of these stories forces the author to write with great care: every word must be examined in terms of its contribution to the story. Every sentence must move the story forward. Although description is important in any story, in a short-short it must be concise.

Here's another thing: I believe writers should know far more about their characters and their story than they reveal to their readers; this allows us to include subtle elements that bleed through the language of the story. We should use our first drafts to get to know both characters and story. This is especially important in short-short fiction: you have to find concise ways to reveal the nature of your characters.

As in any story, the writer must "lead" the reader. Step by step, the reader should be brought vicariously into the story. You do it by making the character interesting enough to be interested in; that's what creates character-driven plot.

Perhaps the greatest danger of the short-short story "genre" is that the writer will get interested in the short-short form and begin to constrain stories that really should be told in a more conventional way. The short-short story is not merely a chopped-down longer story--that would be like chopping down a Cadillac to turn it into a sports car. The short-short story has its own form and methods.

Even if you are not all that interested in the short-short form, it can be a valuable writing exercise, a way to test your ability to quickly focus on character development and plot through the development of an efficient style.

Think you can develop character and plot without overusing the narrator? If so, you may be ready to write a short-short story.

Drive up the road, go over the bridge, take a left, then left again. The road is not straight. Don't expect it to be. Nothing is. Take my word.

Keep going until you see my lazy old collie dog, Sandy, lying in the middle of the road. Don't run over him. Turn left there.

If you don't see Sandy, look for my neighbor's cat, "Willow," up in a tree. Sandy will be sleeping at the base of that tree. That cat is the only reason Sandy will move anymore. Like me, he's becoming stuck to the ground. Unlike him, I don't have many cats to chase anymore. Time, I guess. Time and experience. Be practical, instead of impulsive. At least that's what I tell myself. Maybe I'm kidding myself. I try to, whenever possible.

Look for my old car in the driveway. Don't look for Alice's car. She's not with us anymore. She's been gone . . . let's see, eight years now. Hard to get used to. Took me two years just to sell her car. Didn't have the heart. Didn't seem right. Took another two years before I donated her clothes to the thrift store. Not exactly what you could call practical, I suppose.

I don't drive much anymore. Don't need to. The store is just down the road. Groceries. They have what I need, and if they don't, I figure I don't really need it. And besides, the mail comes every day. If I need something else, like gardening tools or something, I use mail order. Put in an order. It comes. What more could you ask for?

Oh, as you go by the old rundown house on the right, you might want to wave to old Mr. Kirkpatrick. Act friendly. Smile. Otherwise he gets curious. Comes to bother me. "Who was that? Why does he drive a foreign car? Can't he afford an American car?" Things like that. Putters all day in his garden. Doesn't seem to have anything else to do except come over to bother me.

Might be a good idea to at least nod to Mrs. Howard. The big house on the left as you come down the hill. (I'm sure you'll notice that her newer house is too big for her, too big, in fact, for this neighborhood of small older houses. It's only my opinion, but it's pretty obvious if you just look. She just moved in recently. Big Mayflower Movers truck arrived early in the morning. Too early. Woke me up. She got moved in. I didn't pay any attention. None of my business. But next thing you know, the Monday replacement mail lady comes along in her boxy white truck with the steering wheel on the wrong side and puts Mrs. Howard's mail into my converted milkcan mailbox. That's how I found out her name was Mrs. Howard. I took her mail across the road to her, suggested she put her name on her mailbox. She said she would, but it took her a week. Just the single word "Howard," that's it. Poorly stenciled. Hired a kid. Didn't know what he was doing.) One nod to her, then look straight ahead. No more, no less. More and she'll think you're coming on to her, even though she's old. Less and she'll think you're a snob. Either way, she'll probably bend my ear the next time I walk past her place. Like yesterday. I'm coming back from the store. Loaded down. A bag in each arm (paper bags, even though plastic would be easier to carry--the store says paper is more "environmentally friendly"). I try to hurry by her place so I don't have to talk to her, but it never works. She always has a question: Like, "Did your power go off last night? I think mine did, just for a second. It couldn't have been lightning. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. People use too much electricity. They said that on the TV. I always turn off the light when I leave a room. Unless I'm coming right back. Then it takes too much electricity to turn it back on again." Or, "I noticed you're growing corn in your back yard. Is corn hard to grow?" What she really wants to ask is why I'm growing corn, of all things. She wants to say, "Why don't you have a regular garden, like a regular person." Or, "Why do you only have a single row of corn along the back of your house?" But no, she just rambles on. Talk, talk, talk. If she would just ask straight out, I would tell her: I like corn, and corn likes the heat that's reflected off of the white siding. Oh, by the way, my house is white. But then so are the neighbor's houses, so that won't help you. And the corn is behind the house so you won't be able to see it.

When you get here, you might want also want to ask why I like sweet corn so much. I don't know, I just like it. Alice liked it too. She always waited until the water was boiling to go out and pull a couple of ears off the stalk. I said it was a waste of gas. I told her, Why not get the corn ready in advance, ready to pop into the water as soon as it boils. She said, "Uh huh," and kept on doing it her way. She was like that. She had her rituals. Like her way of eating corn. She ate it with pepper and butter, standing right there next to the stove. She wouldn't bring me mine until she was done. Then she'd bring mine to the table, already buttered, already salted, and watch me eat. She always liked to watch me eat. Why? I don't know why. It was just her way.

Anyway, when you get here, just look for the only house on the road with an interesting mailbox. It's a converted milk can. Alice and I got it during our trip to Australia. A great trip. Saw the sights. Pristine beaches and such. Our only trip abroad, and as it turned out, our last trip anywhere together. Out in the Australian countryside, we saw that some people had converted old milk cans to be their mailboxes. Stuck them on their sides, on a post. When we saw one in a yard sale, we bought it. On the return trip, they made us put a tag on it and they sent it through as luggage. After we landed in LA, we told the customs guy it was a mailbox. He thought it was pretty neat. Saw that the lid was on a hinge. Opened and closed it a couple of times. Called over a woman. "Hey, Margaret, look at this. It's a mailbox." He held the lid open for her to look inside. She looked, smiled at him, went back to her own desk. I think he was sweet on her. Probably a boring job, looking in people's luggage all day. You turn in right next to the milkcan mailbox. It has both our names on it. I haven't had time to paint her name out.

Well, now that you know how to get to my house, the question arises regarding when. This week is no good, I've got too many things to do. And next week is out as well. In fact, looking at my calendar, it appears this whole month is pretty much out. I'd better just send you another letter as soon as I find a good date. All I have to do is put the letter out in my milkcan mailbox and the mail lady in her square truck with the steering wheel on the wrong side will mail it for me. That way I never have to go to the post office. Now that I think about it, it may be some time before I will be up to receiving visitors. But when I get some free time it sure will be good to see you again after all these years.

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