Hereâs a theoryâChihuahuas have the souls of larger dogs (most likely dire wolves) wedged into those tiny little bodies. It would explain why these tiny pups think theyâre big enough to take on a cat twice their size or why they always seem to shake. (The shaking is actually their molecules vibrating with the effort to keep all that âbig dog soulâ energy contained in such a small package.) Like I said, a theory.
Consider short stories. Youâre trying to package an entire universe, complete with exposition and world-building into this teeny weeny manuscript that shouldnât be more than 30,000 words. Forget dire wolves, you need to build a Chihuahua with the soul of a great white shark. For someone that writes 90,000-word novels, keeping it under 30,000 is asking a lot. (Weird, right?)
If you follow me on Twitter (@selatyron), you might have seen my occasional tirade, joke or weakly veiled cry for help as I blunder through this process.
So, why am I trying to torture myself this way? Iâve been tapped to contribute for a sci-fi anthology coming out this summer. Cool, right? (Iâd mention its name here, but Iâm not sure if thatâs ok or not. Suffice it to say, itâs got some really awesome authors in this group. I was very flattered when I was invited to join in.)
I had an idea already kicking aroundâa backstory of a minor character in the Allies and Enemies series. Itâs not as dark as some of the military sci-fi Iâve put out. And, if a newcomer likes the story, they might want to further explore the series. Win-win.
And then I realized I had to actually write a short story, something Iâd never really done before outside of the occasional middle school essay (and come to think of it, those were hella-long too).
My inner George McFly started to panic, so I sat down and researched how to write short stories. (Believe me, I realize how strange that sentence sounds.)
So, here are my top four takeaways from this surprisingly daunting process:
- Short stories donât necessarily have to have a beginning, middle, and end. They can be the turning point or âmoment of truthâ for a character thatâs part of a larger world. Itâs this moment that is the meat of the story and not necessarily the rest of it.
- This is a chance to take risks. Change verb tenses. Write it from the antagonistâs perspective. Try a genre you wouldnât normally consider. Itâs a short story, so even if it flops, you havenât actually lost too much of a time investment.
- This forced me to try to write in a less sprawling style. I learned to try to be succinct with my word choice.
- Telling is âokâ in a short story. (I know. I know. Youâre supposed to âshow not tell.â) But in this condensed universe, it saves time, words and page space. Just avoid too many info dumps because that can be confusing to readers.
To prep for this, I started listening to fiction podcasts that showcase authors who have mastered the art of the short story. (My fave is the one offered by Lightspeed Magazine on iTunes.) Listening as opposed to reading, helped me to develop an ear for pacing and tone. Not all the authorâs voices are the same when you compare their styles and genres, but if you listen to them back to back, patterns start to emerge. It was a huge help in constructing my storyâs road map.
[And youâll be pleased to know that the âcommentsâ field has been re-activated. Take that, spam bots!]
Recently, I was contacted by Ken Picard of Seven Days VT who asked my insights into the seedy underbelly of indie publishing. (Ok, there’s really nothing seedy or underbelly-ish about my gig. Unless you take into consideration the dust bunnies under the desk in my office.) Check out the article here.
