 ""Skull of a Skeleton with Burning Cigarette" by Vincent Van Gogh |
That's what we're trying to suss out every time we write, isn't it? Not only the world as it could be, but the world as it could have been in the past. At least for me. I tend to start stories with real moments from the world around me or from my own history, and as I work and re-work them, my characters become so much more different from me: stronger or sadder or funnier or braver. That door doesn't lead me to any particular world so much as it is the permission to narrate the world differently, for better or worse.
"Her favorite part of him is when they fight." That line slays me. It's so good! Tell me all you can about that line.
I'm not an aggressive person off the page, and I'm more likely to back down from a confrontation (unless perhaps it's via email and I have time to construct an argument) than to push someone back. But I wanted this character to be calmed by having someone who calls her out. I have this secret sense that when I find someone I can yell around, who I can argue badly with and point my finger at and get all into a huff next to, that I'll be strangely happy.
"There might be good in staying somewhere long enough to discover its secrets." I thought of flash fiction when I read this sentence again. How does flash discover its characters' secrets when it has not the time to stay somewhere long enough?
That's one of the things I love about flash fiction, that staying just a moment really can be long enough, given you walk in at the right time. In longer stories, readers (read, my students) always seem to want more — more backstory, more about what happens next. A flash piece puts limits on readers as well as writers. The form itself tells us right away that this is the whole story. There's a comfort in knowing a writer has withheld all but what is critical.
What are some of the more memorable things you've been offered by writers to get a story into Passages North? (Because I can top them all—I promise.)
You get offered bribes and treats? Lucky. At Passages , for some reason, I'm more likely to hear sob stories. One woman asked us to please consider her poems even though they were handwritten because she had dropped her typewriter on her toe, breaking both. We also, though rarely, get diatribes from rejected writers. One suggested we'd all be better off scrubbing toilets than publishing stories, given we'd passed up his piece.
Time for the first (and perhaps only) SLQ deserted island questionnaire. One CD. One novel. One flash piece. One movie. One very much alive famous person. One very much alive writer. One SLQ editor with the initials R.B.. Go!
I think it's funny that you saved the deserted island questions for me, since I can never settle on a definitive choice in this game, even when given the wider berth of a top five, even if I'm playing it around a backyard bonfire with my friends. I'm the one who answers "Depends," rather than "Yes" or "No," to every single question in the game Scruples. But I'll try to be specific.
CD: Paul Simon's " Graceland" is my formal answer, though all I listen to at home are mix CDs my friends have made me. My favorite is a compilation of bad 80s duets (tons of Peter Cetera), but taking that to the island would probably just make me lonely for someone to sing with.
Novel: If I was really packing for a stay on a deserted island, I'd take a book I hadn't read yet, something dense that will sustain lots of readings, maybe Infinite Jest , by David Foster Wallace. But that's dangerous; what if I hate it? Perhaps, to be safe, I'd take Richard Powers's The Gold Bug Variations . I could spend a long vacation with that book.
Flash piece: "Girl," by Jamaica Kincaid. Righteous.
Movie: This island is cool; if there's a DVD player, maybe they have cable too and I could keep up with America's Next Top Model . But if I'm bringing the movie: Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? For sure. (Perhaps this is where my somewhat romantic notions about fighting come from.)
Famous person: Christopher Walken? If only because I imagine our relationship could change over time. That I'd spend a while being a little scared of him, and intimidated, and then we'd start building our shelter and fashioning fishing gear and eventually I'd start thinking, "Hey, that Christopher Walken can be funny," and I realize he was human just like me, and I'd start calling him "Chris" and I'd be less nervous around him, and then later, when we got home, he'd be programmed into my cell phone under whatever nickname I gave him on the island and we'd have this history together and I'd write a story about being stranded on a desert island with Christopher Walken.
Writer: Steve Almond. He's tall like corn. Plus, I suspect he'd be missed, and people would be out looking for him.
SLQ Editor: See you there, Randall. Hope you know some Peter Cetera tunes.
Read Real Estate.
