So, what's happened so far?
Last time I'd got as far as the flash-fiction course at New Writing South in Brighton, Word Cricket and the first new thing I'd written in ages.
So, then what happened?
Well, I'd like to start early in 2013 when the National Flash-Fiction Day 2013 competition was announced, but before I'd entered my story.
P.S. National Flash-Fiction Day runs every year, and this year the 100-Word Competition closes on
Midnight, Sunday March 9th, 2014
-oOo-
100 words sounds easy, doesn't it?
A beginning, a middle and an end, add some emotional depth, ensure the last line really pops off the page, make it unique and engaging, make it challenging, make it, above all, a good read.
In 100 words!?!
Frankly, I didn't know where to begin. There were no handy prompts from a flash-fiction exercise to help me now. No more dual controls on the biro.
I panicked. I took an old short piece called "Alter" that had been sitting around doing nothing much and thought, "Right, you are only 291 words long. I'm going to chop you down to size."
Here's what I started with.
Alter
Months after the accident she came
home rebuilt.
At the breakfast table, it is as if I have found a
fallen star, still glowing, in the middle of our daily loaf of bread. I imagine
a thick slice falling away to reveal this strange glowing visitor lodged in the
familiar dough. Mostly, however, the loaf is just bread, and the woman sitting
across the table from me is still mostly my wife so, for that at least, I am
glad.
The new platinum beneath her skin
makes her glow like filigree in the sunlight, its delicate and precise
traceries an implanted web of new vitality expanding slightly with the heat,
pulsing with electricity, breathing with her skin, curiously alive.
My mind wanders as my hand reaches
for the toast. I spread the butter carefully and, spoon at the ready, I reach
for another egg. It is warm in my hand, but only from the pan.
She smiles like a mechanical
lighthouse across the blue ocean of tablecloth, an imitation of joy moving as
she moves, revealing the smile full-face before turning smoothly towards the
window. The dawn is reflected in that familiar expression, but her warmth comes
only from the sun, not from within.
I open my newspaper and set the
pages full sail towards the past. Judging the winds and the tides of her mood,
seeking guidance in the new bright star of her unreadable face, I navigate
these cold, blue waters.
I bite my lip and taste the iron in
my blood, the metal hidden in my flesh. I find comfort in our similarity.
Stretching the paper taught between
my hands I sail on towards the mechanical lighthouse.
Tonight, I know, I will dream only
of the sea.
-oOo-
And this is what I ended up with.
Alterations
After the accident she
came home rebuilt.
At
breakfast, the platinum beneath her skin glows, pulsing with electricity,
curiously alive.
I take
some toast, spread butter. I see that there are no eggs in the pan.
She
smiles, a mechanical lighthouse across the blue ocean of tablecloth. Her head
turns smoothly towards the window, her warmth coming only from the sun.
I
open my newspaper setting the pages full sail, seeking guidance in the new star
of her unreadable face, in the night of her eyes.
Tonight
I know I will not dream of her, only of the sea.
-oOo-
99 words. 100 with the title. What really surprised me was this was the same story, with the same nuances and imagery and a slightly changed ending to reinforce the unreality the husband seems to find himself in with his new mechanical wife.
At this point I had a new found respect for editors. I was also sure that a proper editor would have been better at it.
What did I keep and why?
The first line didn't need the word "months" - so off it went.
The second paragraph "At the breakfast table..." adds nothing to the story - it is merely a static observation, a drawn out simile that serves only to associate the new wife with something "alien" or "from outer space". But I did preserve the first four words as it moves the story forward and sets the scene for where these two characters are.
The extended simile in the third paragraph "like filigree in the sunlight ... slightly with the heat" also adds nothing more that a detail of the husband's observation. But, the description "curiously alive" had to stay, it let's the reader know that she may be strange by she is still human.
The fourth paragraph, "My mind wanders as my hand reaches for the toast. I spread the butter carefully and, spoon at the ready, I reach for another egg. It is warm in my hand, but only from the pan." greatest challenge of the whole process. I wanted to equate the act of breakfast with the warmth of the eggs with the warmth of a female body and the idea of fertility. Life. Heat.
This is where I deviated from the original. I changed my mind. This wasn't his wife anymore. There might be skin and a heart pumping blood, but it is all mechanical. Thus "I see that there are no eggs in the pan" removes an essential element of womanhood, the ability to have children.
Now that I have committed myself to the mechanism at the heart of the story it was easy for me to keep the "mechanical lighthouse" description, and then make her more remote and aloof with "across the blue ocean of tablecloth" and reinforce the lack of human qualities with the last line "only from the sun".
The penultimate line remained largely unchanged, the removal if the "winds and the tides" didn't detract from the mood I was trying to set, a voyage into the unknown, into darkness, into a terrible night.
So, in the end, the husband does not bite his lip. He has nothing in common with her any more. Describing the "iron in my blood" would undo the separation of biological man and machine woman.
And then, adding "of her" to the last line completes the piece. He has lost her and he knows it, the only thing left is the distance between them, the blue of the tablecloth, the sea.
And I wonder if you would believe me that this took three days? Well...
That's all for now.
By the way, I'm wondering what kind of things to write about in future editions. If you have a preference for craft, or publishing, social media, cryptozoology, or anything else for that matter, please let me know in the comments section.
That's all for now.
By the way, I'm wondering what kind of things to write about in future editions. If you have a preference for craft, or publishing, social media, cryptozoology, or anything else for that matter, please let me know in the comments section.
www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk
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