January 2024
New (Diminutive) Beginnings
“I write long, long titles for my short, short stories.”
-Michael Martone, “Titled: The Title”, from The Rose Metal Press Field Guide to Writing Flash Fiction
For many of us, titling is hard. A story may sit in our drafts as “Untitled” for days, weeks, months as we revise and polish. We prepare our story for submission, painstakingly research where we want to send it, and then realize we haven’t named it as our finger hovers over the “submit” button. We groan or sigh or roll our eyes, then pull a word or line from the story that maybe conveys the tone, or the theme, or echoes the subject of our piece. Alternatively, sometimes we dream up something punny or ironic. A double entendre. Maybe the title is changed each time we send the story out, shucking its old form to don something new that we are sure will be the key to the story’s success this time.
If you’re lucky, you don’t recognize yourself in any of this struggle to name things. But if, like some of us, it took you days to name your first born child because it’s a BIG RESPONSIBILITY WITH LONG-LASTING REPERCUSSIONS, or you have numerous files that read “Untitled—The One About My Mom” or “Untitled—Duck, Duck, Goose maybe?” on your desktop, then perhaps look to Michael Martone for inspiration.
For microfiction writers, economy is paramount. We can’t deny that we are attracted to big stories in petite packages. But what unknown entity has forced us to downsize our titles, as well? Is there wisdom in a long title accompanying a short story? Could we lean on our titles for more exposition, scene-setting, characterization, or establishment of tone? Would a journal let us get away with a title as long, if not longer, than the story itself? Or is that against the rules, in the same way that, so far, the legal system won’t let us name our children using emojis? Perhaps the flash fiction community is overdue for a debate about titling. Until then, we’ll name this post “Untitled—You Do You.”
A New Story for You:
(Note: consider the work the title is doing in the story below. What is established before we even read the first sentence?)
The Worm Bitch-Whispers in My Ear as I Lie Six Feet Under in a Plain Pine Box
Mikki Aronoff
Remember me? My tensile strength, my thrashing will to survive the barb? Your father’s insistent fingers as they twisted to undo my spiral dance around the steel hook’s throat, how he pinched to grab any section of me that wasn’t curling and gripping the shank? Your eyes widening as they took in the pink smash of my body, all five of my hearts pounding, bits of soil dropping from my tiny mouth as my brain whipped ’round from the pain? How you shrank from your father’s lead but needed to please, cried let me try, Poppa, Poppa, let me try?
A Story From the Archives:
Houndstooth
By Digby Beaumont
Bernard checks the advice on the website again:
1. Get close, but not too close. If the person sits and you stand, avoid having your crotch near their face.
2. Try to catch the person’s eye, but don’t stare, as this might make them nervous or even scared.
3. Start a conversation; ask a question requiring more than a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. Be prepared to repeat yourself.
8.02. The bus arrives in ten minutes. He prays she will be on it. In front of the hall mirror he adjusts his new houndstooth newsboy cap. It hides his monks’ crown.
Book of the month:
We recently read the piece “The Kidnapping” by Adam Peterson in another wonderful microfiction journal, Wigleaf, and thought, why not give an older book some love? Adam Peterson’s collection, The Flasher, was released in 2012 by SpringGun Press. We love the idea of structuring a longer narrative through brief, pithy pieces of fiction, and Adam Peterson seems to do just that here. The Flasher “explores the oddity and myth of being an individual in sixty cross genre micro-narratives. The flasher character is a product of his own sensitive disposition—his desire for connection, his fear of abandonment, nudity and isolation. He projects these anxieties onto a woman baker in dramatic fashion.” That last sentence is what really intrigued us, and made us think this book might be worth picking up from Small Press Distribution, where it’s currently available.
A Prompt:
Much like short-short stories, photography captures the ephemeral, the brief, the most minute of moments. An image invites us into our senses, and through them, we might bump into the beginnings of a story. This month, we bring you a snowy scene, which we hope will inspire you as it did us. Happy writing!
If you have a photo prompt story to share, submit it in the comments here: