by April Bradley
The first piece of fiction I wrote was
supposed to be in the range of 80,000 to 100,000 words, but I ended up with
218. I labored over those few words and loved how the careful attention to that
moment opened up a world, but I had no idea what to do with it. Who’d publish
such a small thing or read it the way I did? I’d never heard of flash, had
little familiarity with short fiction or literary magazines, had no training or
academic experience in creative writing, didn’t know any other writers. It felt
like I had failed because I was supposed to be writing a novel. I abandoned that
unintentional piece of flash on my hard drive. That was in 2007.
This was during my mid-thirties when I read
even more than usual, feasted on fiction and craft after the house was asleep,
or in parking lots of elementary and middle schools, at libraries, doctor
offices, the town green, and I did not write. That half-decade hosted an
inferno of events and living that converged into a calm focus by the time forty
came around.
By the time I was 36, my daughter and I survived a
high-risk pregnancy and birth; I left a graduate program and dropped out of law
school; my career was derailed by multiple episodes of blood clots in my legs,
lungs, and brain; my spouse and I divorced. I agreed to co-parent my child with
my ex-spouse in the same home and to mother full time. I should have been
writing. I wanted to write, but coaxing the words to line up into a coherent,
immersive story with evocative, vivid characters seemed impossible. I wrote
around story; I didn’t create it.
For years supportive friends and family
encouraged me, saying things like just sit down and write, keep a journal, free write,
take a class, find your tribe, write, write, write.
Keep in mind that an intense life was plowing right along; the topic of my creative
writing didn’t come up all that often. Peter, my daughter's father, and my grandmother
were the most persistent.
Peter, also a writer and narrative theorist,
knew I’d have to work for it and thought I was wasting precious time; my
grandmother was firmly in the sit-down-and-write-a-masterpiece
camp. I had outlines, plot ideas, research, and character sketches that
obtained a great deal of length, but no life, and certainly no sense of story.
Those years were vital for me to read and
re-read and study, turn my thinking around from theory and criticism to
creation. Finally, when I was nearly forty-two I started writing what
would be my first—and first published—pair of short stories. They too started
off first unintentionally as flash. I wrote a vivid moment, put it away and
came back to it a couple of months later and developed it into a story of more
length and arc. At that time, I had a vague idea about flash that at best could
be described as “I think it’s short short fiction.”
I wrote at least sixty drafts of a story over
a five-month period, pushing myself to learn with it, and length is difficult
for me. My naiveté with literary journals became obvious. After Glimmer
Train declined to publish
it, I sent it to two others, one of which was Bartleby Snopes. They told me that I had two stories in play, neither of which
resolved the conflict of the other. They were right. The two shorter, revised
stories immediately found homes at Dew On The Kudzu and Thrice Fiction.
As I acquired more familiarity with literary
magazines and worked for one, I gained more exposure to flash. Discovering
flash was like discovering a genre no one had ever mentioned. It was more than
a miniature short story. Imagine if fiction or poetry were suddenly revealed to
exist—that’s how wonderful and dazzling flash was to me. Yet, it was also
familiar.
Flash is the medium I gravitate to out of a
creative instinct, but it is no less difficult an art form. It intrigues me as
a creator and as a philosopher. Narrative time in flash is uniquely experienced
and expressed, and this feature of flash is particularly compelling. There is a
dissonance in how long it takes to read a piece of flash, how it is portrayed
in time through physical space in story time, and how long time and emotion
resonate with the reader. The various elements of flash each influence the way
time is re-ordered internally and externally.
Flash is similar in some aspects to many
familiar forms of narrative, but it owns itself. After I started writing and
publishing longer form stories and gained more confidence in my writing, enough
confidence to write spontaneously, experiment with structure and form, emotion
and content—I wrote more and more flash. Then, I sought guidance and studied
with some of the masters of the forms: Kathy Fish, Gay Degani, and Nancy
Stohlman. My education is by no means over.
These days, I have more story than time. There are flash
projects in the works; I belong to a fantastic writing group, and I have been
working on a flash novel-in-progress that suspiciously resembles a novel.
Besides writing, the best thing about flash is the vibrant community of writers
who shape and create it.
I found that original piece of flash, rewrote it entirely,
and it didn’t work at all. In its original form with a bit of refinement, I
submitted it Hermeneutic
Chaos Literary Journal. They published and nominated it for a
Best Of The Net Award.
_______________________________
April Bradley is from Goodlettsville,
Tennessee and lives with her family on the Connecticut shoreline. Her work has
appeared in Boston Literary Magazine, Flash Frontier, Hermeneutic
Chaos Literary Magazine, Narratively, Pure Slush 5, and Thrice
Fiction, among others. She is the Associate Editor for Bartleby
Snopes Literary Magazine and Press. Find her at aprilbradley.net.
8 comments:
I really enjoyed reading about your journey toward publication, April! Thank you for your honesty. It matters when to the rest of us out here walking the path. I, too, circled the idea of writing by reading and hoping I'd sit and write. When I finally gave myself permission to start that first story, a tidal wave of ideas poured out. Now the tough part is capturing it all and making sense of the words. Can't wait to see where this all leads you!
-WIndy
Thank you Windy Lynn for reading and taking the time to comment.
Thank you so much, Windy for your comment, well wishes, and for chiming in with understanding. You've articulated it so well. Once I was able to break through, the words did come, just as you describe.
Thanks for making such a cool project. I've been checking the site for the Windows version, but I never left a comment about it. I know you are awriter.org working hard and doing it for free so you shouldn't feel rushed or anything. I hope you can continue this type of hard work to this site in future also. Because this blog is really very informative and it helps me lot.
Yes, it is a wonderful tribe, my friend! So interesting to learn about your journey.
Thanks, Jayne Martin, for reading and commenting. You started this whole thing off and I thank you for that!
I love the honesty and openness in your rendering of your journey, April. And how you deftly wove a flash craft lesson into it. Thanks!
Thank you so much, Jan! I didn't realize I wove a lesson into it. Gay was a wonderful editor in this process. Every writer needs one.
Post a Comment