I Love Short Stories
‘Tiny windows into other worlds’
If you, like me, have been struggling with some of your more involved reading, I suggest short stories. They work wonders when stuck in a reading rut. More, they’re a powerful tool for kicking writer’s block to the curb and unlocking creativity. Small literary miracles that pack a lot of power.
A recent Medium story suggested short stories should go away. The funny tag implied the article was tongue in cheek, and not against the art of short storytelling. Since my reading allowance expired, I couldn’t read the piece. However, it got me to thinking how much I love short stories, and why.
Neil Gaiman tells us: Short stories are tiny windows into other worlds and other minds and other dreams. They are journeys you can make to the far side of the universe and still be back in time for dinner.
A rich imagination sets the scene for what Gaiman is talking about.
As a child, I lived in Bucharest, Romania. There were residential buildings scattered throughout the city called blocks, similar in color and design. They were called sister buildings, having been build around the same time, 1980s, and due to their similarity and proximity. We lived on the fourth floor of one such apartment building sandwiched between several others.
In the evenings, I’d spend time watching the world outside my window — a universe within a universe — and there was a lot to see. People rushing along, kids playing, commuters getting off busses and trudging home.
Then there were the wide open windows — people airing out the heat of the day. Welcoming the breeze. They didn’t seem to care the open windows invited onlookers inside their homes. They lived as if no one was watching.
Day after day, I could see families going through their routines. In the building across, a young family — mother, father, and young child — would start their dinner routine with remarkable punctuality. The father would bring dishes of food to the table, so I pegged him as the cook. He gesticulated a lot in between moving dishes. A hand talker. The mother threw her head back quite often, laughing. Easily amused. Or her husband had a knack for humor. The young child would pop in and out — the top of his head barely visible. It would take forever to set up the table, but once they sat down, they attacked the food, consuming it in record time. A fun, no-nonsense family, living an organized life, at least around dinnertime.
In the lateral building, there was a young woman in breezy summer dresses, always in pale colors, reading. Every now and then, she’d set her palm on the page and stare out the window. I imagined she had read something powerful and needed a few seconds. Or maybe she was watching someone also though open windows. She was two floors below and couldn’t see me. Same as the young family across. But I could see all of them well.
Years later, I realized that someone from the floors above was probably watching me stand there, head swiveling between windows, pegging me as a nosy little brat.
The wide open windows were journeys I make into other people’s lives, not far from where I stood, yet a world away. They were short stories, complete, profound, filled with rich characters and enough detail to briefly let me into their lives. They were narratives contained to those moments in time.
A novel is different, although many short stories are later expanded to novels. In a novel, the reader is invited to step across the threshold of a home and inside, rather than catching stolen glimpses through open windows. The entryway might look enticing, so the reader keeps going. Moving from room to room, the reader may be enchanted or disappointed, but she’s gone in and has more rooms to see. She must decide whether to continue or go home.
Short stories are all about one feeling, one mood, from start to finish. More is implied, less involved. The reader rides one emotional rollercoaster from beginning to end. If the story is well written, it’s a worthy ride.
A short story is confined to one mood, to which everything in the story pertains. Characters, setting, time, events, are all subject to the mood. And you can try more ephemeral, more fleeting things in a story — you can work more by suggestion — than in a novel. Less is resolved, more is suggested, perhaps.
– Eudora Welty
A short story could be born from writing prompts, something not applicable to novels. For that reason, many writers start out with short stories before moving on to the complex art of writing a novel with a hook, three-dimensional characters and secondary characters, the ability to plot a sagging middle, good pace, tension, conflict, and the ability to tie up all the loose ends into a believable narrative, or write is so the reader gives it her own interpretation.
I would suggest that any aspiring writer begin with short stories. These days, I meet far too many young writers who try to start off with a novel right off, or a trilogy, or even a nine-book series. That’s like starting in at rock climbing by tackling Mt. Everest. Short stories help you learn your craft.
So, you see, the concise art of short storytelling comes with multiple benefits. It keeps one reading when nothing else does. It serves as writing prompts, helping one learn the craft, and possibly develop a lifelong love of writing and reading short stories.
I love both — short stories and novels. One for immersing me into another world, the other for offering satisfying quick glimpses. I read and write both.
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