Some thoughts on thoughts in Flash Fiction
Exposition versus Context
So why doesn’t internal thought work as well in Flash as it does in novels?
Novels earn the opportunity to dip into a character’s thoughts because this kind of writing is often a beat, a pause for the character to process what just happened in a scene of consequence. We love novels for the depth of story and the depth of character, and one of the ways to create this depth is through this processing of internal thought after a dramatic event. We want an understanding of their decision-making; we want to see if they are the same or different from us. We want to see if our reading of the scene is the same as the characters. This is how we judge and infer while reading novels.
Flash doesn’t have the time or space for a large block of text showing this decision-making or processing act. The reader is asked and expected to make inferences and judgments with far less information and more from experiencing the character acting on the stage of the story. Flash plot and structure has more in line with stage plays than novels.
Often, I see Flash that starts with these internal moments before anything dramatic has even started in the story. If a novel has to earn this use of its space and word count, then Flash definitely needs to earn it even more, as there is less real estate in the short short story. Brevity isn’t just the key but is a necessity.
Flash hungers for action, for learning about our characters through these actions, and maybe there’s an opportunity for a quick thought, a quick guide to the character’s decision making, a phrase to show their processing of the situation, but this kind of writing, exposition, is not where we want to linger! Exposition only adds depth when it provides context; if it’s extraneous, it breaks the rhythm and power of brevity.
The flash writer has to ask themselves what the reader gains from reading about a character standing in front of a sink or a mirror and thinking about the past? The character is telling us that the past is important to revealing themselves to us, so why not ground ourselves in the experience of that past?
By putting our characters in static situations, we start our stories with the banalities of life. Waking up, brushing our teeth, taking out the trash. Things we do thousands of times without much thought. Non-actions that don’t contribute to the potential tension in the story. No tension is a story-stopper
. Part of the argument might be that this thinking is innately human and is realistic to our lives. Sure, a song, a commercial, or the certain way the sun lights the petal of a flower can bring us to vivid daydreams, fragmented memories, or intrusive thoughts. So many of us are waylaid by these internal wanderings. But the drama of the mind is better suited to longer works, expansive spaces full of real estate. But here is where
Flash asserts its own form and its own use of brevity to power the tension and conflict in the narrative. If flash is a distillation of story, of the traditional plot formula or progression, then we want to take the risk of leaving some of these pieces out or diminishing others to highlight the power of other elements. Rion Amilcar Scott gets at this idea when he says:
In a Flash narrative, there often isn’t space to take on every element of fiction, so a tiny story might be fat with poeticism, fat with character, fat with setting, fat with symbols, but not fat with all of them. Flash Fictions offer us depth over breadth. Fat with substance as playwright August Wilson used to describe his plays. Fat with substance, even while being made of less substance.
Each story needs to highlight certain elements over others in order to achieve the intent of the writer and the purpose of that particular story.
Stories, especially flash, are about breaking rituals, about seeing a character try to get out of trouble or get into trouble, to witness their choices, their actions, and the fallout from these choices. Stories that focus on rumination aren’t doing anything new, fresh, or dynamic. At least novels have a justification for using their space to show how a character thinks and/or feels as it’s tied to a dramatic moment or event. Can this be justified in a flash, especially if the story starts with this rumination? Chances are that the story would be more dynamic and, therefore, more memorable if it fought the writer’s urge to use exposition for as long as possible. This, at the very least, creates internal tension in the reader, wondering if they will ever dip into the character’s head.
Playing towards and away from expectation brings a different kind of pleasure to a reader, and Flash often revels in the kind of pleasure gained by reading something that breaks expectations in exciting ways. Flash creates its structure with each new example, each story cutting out or giving more depth and power to different acts in order to make an old story new again.
Prompt: Find a draft where a character is alone in their thoughts. 1. Is it at the beginning? Should it come after an action?
Is there a better, more dynamic way to introduce this character?
What action could they undertake that would lead to a conflict that would add tension?
Are there more characters than the protagonist in your story?
How long does it take before another character(s) is introduced?
Does the exposition create context, or is it superfluous?
Did you start with a frame for a memory or a backstory?
Should that memory of backstory be the main story?
Have you put off writing a thought or feeling for as long as possible?
If the story relies on large junks of internal thought, how will the story create or denote movement?
Have you considered replacing the thought with a metaphor or figurative language?
What aren’t you showing us? What action might make the story fresher or more dynamic?
Is the story fat with the wrong elements? Should a different element be given more space, more weight?
Monthly Flash reading:
Lost Boys by Stephanie Yu
Flapping Wings and a Shoeless Walk by Sudha Balagopal
The Train That Runs Behind Our House by Eric Scot Tryon
To Win the Game by Shareen K. Murayama
A New Kind of Dan by Kyle Seibel
Try At Home:
Try to place your character in a slanted setting, a place that doesn't quite work in reality or a place where objects or images don't go together, but here they do. Or think of a place that used to exist as something else, but it's been transformed for better or worse. How is your character coping with the weirdness, the change, the transformation? Keep them there, keep them making choices, keep them vigilant in a strange atmosphere. If you take the risk, we'll find a new sense of resonance, a sense of the world made new again!Â
Write with Me!
Great stuff to think about here. This will help me with my flash fiction. Thanks!