I cannot tell a story over a paragraph long. This is what I’m beginning to clearly see from my concerted efforts in my writing lately. I honestly don’t know how to break out from that opening paragraph into a tale worth telling.
When I re-discovered the short story form in recent years of courses, I was elated because I had been sitting on a complete novel that was written in three months (sadly in need of complete rewriting or complete deleting). I ground out short stories in classes, then continued my efforts and hopefully improved my writing style, found some kind of voice, and via the study of poetry, learned compression and imagery. However, I still haven’t mastered narrative—story—an arc that rises through conflicts to a climax and resolution (or not, depending on form). It seems like I don’t know how to end a story, and get lost in the telling of it, no matter how nicely or well it MAY be written.
Then this, an article from this morning’s New York Times regarding the possible demise of the short story form due to many reasons, not the least of which is the slowdown of stories being published in the magazines we used to depend upon, and the slow decline of sales of anthologies that is putting the short story in the realm of academic periodicals. These are all well and fine, but these publications tend to be found in libraries and on campuses and are more well-known to writers and instructors rather than the general public, thus their lack of recognition and salability. This book, which I have just ordered, can be found here: The Anchor Book of New American Short Stories.
No problem; I write for me. Or do I?
Of course not. Yes, I write because I love it and need to do it. But will a ballerina dance if she knows she will never have a stage and audience? Creativity is personal, but it must be shared. So the market’s not great, and you have to be great. And here I am, Mistress of The Thousand Paragraphs.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology