The Critical Eye...

I’m always amazed immediately after reading a story from Workshop—all I can do is gush about how awesome the story was, how clever the plot, how well-written. But that doesn’t make for very helpful feedback in terms of edits/revisions, so I have to force myself to look over the story with a critical eye. It usually helps if I take a break from it for a little bit, and then I look at the story again. Usually the second time through, I have a lot more constructive criticism to hand out, in terms of how to make the story even better. As I force myself to go into this critical mental “zone” more and more, I’ve actually gotten better at seeing flaws in writing. Part of it is also hearing other people’s critiques during workshop. I’ve picked up some common errors that a lot of people get critiqued for, and I’ve started to look for those more and more. This critical eye will help me when I’m editing my own story, I think. I’m really glad I’m one of the last people to go—hopefully everything I pick up from the workshops will allow me to write a better story! Although currently, I have major writers block. No inspiration at all for my story. Hopefully that will change soon…

Just by the way…one thing that surprised me is that my previous studying for SAT writing (the multiple choice) has actually helped me point out grammar inconsistencies and grammatical errors…so I guess it wasn’t completely useless (haha kidding, it helped a lot).

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

After dinner yesterday, I started reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz—and I didn’t close that book until I read the last page. I loved it. At first, I was sort of disappointed that it wasn’t about Yunior’s life—I really liked Junot Diaz’s short stories written from the point of view of Yunior—but as I got to the middle, I realized that the book was narrated by Yunior (for the most part—a little bit is narrated from the point of view of Lola, Oscar’s sister and Yunior’s ex-girlfriend)—just with a focus on Oscar, a friend of Yunior’s. With this story, Yunior has emerged from underneath the shadow of his late brother, Rafa. Yunior is a confident and attractive Dominican male—and he tries to help out Oscar, an overweight “nerdboy” that loves writing, and loves girls (although they hardly ever reciprocate). Like all the short stories we’ve read by Junot Diaz, this one is as blunt and raw and real—taboo subjects avoided? No way. Curbing of profanity? Hell no. Although these elements are risky to include—more often then not, these detract from the writing—Diaz blends these elements so seamlessly into the substance of the story that they end up enhancing the writing. These are a (large) part of life in the ghetto, and Diaz isn’t shy about telling it as it is. This truth is why I love Junot Diaz. His stories are so believable—the words on the page aren’t just letters, they bring the characters to life—they bring the story to life. I never find myself doubting that the stories aren’t true—with the amount of details, the carefree spontaneity of the dialogue, the little flaws and imperfections so characteristic of real life—the story is seeped in truth. I like the fact that the characters aren’t perfect. I like the fact that things don’t always work out for the characters. I like the fact that the characters do things that are blatantly stupid in the lens of hindsight. And Junot Diaz exploits these desires of the reader to be able to identify with the imperfect characters—that’s his secret...along with the perfect dose of humor and swearing, that is ;)

Workshops...:)

So far, I’ve really loved everyone’s workshop stories—the creativity of my classmates never ceases to amaze me. After each story, I’m always left breathless—I wish I’d written that! And I really think that we could compose a book—a collection of shorts from the PRISM class of 2011. Each of us, as writers, have our strengths and our weaknesses—our stories appeal to different age groups, people who like different genres, and perhaps more to a particular gender than the other—but that’s what’s so great, in my opinion. Sure, we don’t all have flawless stories, but each of us writes a story that no one else could—and that’s the magic of it. Honestly, a lot of the time I think people’s stories are great—a work of genius—and I hesitate to criticize it because my judgment is subjective. I may think it would make the story better, but it might actually not work with the author’s style. Oftentimes I go through the stories and simply proofread it—most of my red pen marks are actually made to highlight parts that I like (“Great descriptions!” “great characterization!”). If there’s something that isn’t clear, I ask the writer to clarify it—I try to give suggestions on how they could go about doing it, because I know how hard it is to have someone criticize something, but not actually telling you how to go about doing it. With some stories, I can’t give much more suggestions than those, simply because I thought the story was extremely impactful, and everything builds up to that point. Editing it further could mess up the foundation of the story.

Assigned Blog Post #6: You're Brilliant

http://inxplash.blogspot.com/2010/10/translation.html

I really loved this post about "The Translation" by Joyce Carol Oates. I had just been reading the story, and this post cleverly summed up what I had been trying so hard to find the words for. The parts I especially agreed with were: “we go to a foreign country with a translator, the translator becomes one of our senses. Depending on who our translator is, we will have a good or bad experience, as shown by Oliver’s story,” and “Liebert becomes Oliver’s mouthpiece and also is method of perceiving other people through their questions,” and “once Oliver’s translator is switched, the magic of the city vanishes.” This post does a really good job of pinpointing the message in Oates story. Nathan—you always write awesome posts, but this one really stood out to me because I was trying hard to translate my feelings about this story into words, and you really summarized the story up beautifully.

Swimming in a Pool of Delusions

           
Immediately after reading “The Swimmer” by John Cheever, I was extremely confused—Neddy didn’t seem like a reliable narrator—I didn’t know how much of the story I could trust. Was Neddy actually an old man lying on his hospital bed, reliving parts of his life—before coming in terms with reality? Or was Neddy a middle-aged man who had lost his senses after becoming “bankrupt over night”?

Then I realized that the allure of this story is that we aren’t sure and could never be sure—Cheever leaves plenty of room for imagination. Although I’m kind of disappointed that Cheever didn’t illuminate us (maybe he didn’t even think out the story himself—maybe he was taking an easy way out by making the reader imagine!), I realize it adds to the reader’s empathy and pity for Neddy. We realize that Neddy must have had something extremely painful happen to him, and by leaving that to the imagination of the reader, the reader can think of something painful that perhaps they themselves have experienced. Moreover, the mysteriousness adds to the characterization of Neddy as someone who has completely deluded himself.

Also, the two most important motifs in this story is swimming and drinking, and I’d like to offer my interpretation. Swimming represents the journey away from self-delusion and towards truth and reality. Irony lies in the fact that Neddy begins the journey in hopes of building up his illusion even more—he hopes to fulfill his “idea of himself as a legendary figure” by swimming across the county—but instead, is met with the stark reality that he has lost his family and house. The motif of drinking also contributes to the symbol that swimming brings Neddy closer to reality because as Neddy swims farther and farther, and he grows to doubt himself more and more (shown by Cheever’s use of rhetorical questions, Neddy questions his own faltering memory), he becomes more and more desperate for a drink. However, as he swims farther and farther, he finds it more and more difficult to get a drink. This really shows that as he swims away from the Westerhazy’s and towards his own home, his illusions are stripped away from him, leaving him naked and vulnerable to the cruel truth.

Lastly, I’d like to mention that my conjecture is that Neddy escapes from an insane asylum or a psychiatric hospital (or, more likely, becomes very very drunk one day) and visits his old neighborhood—reliving his memories of each location, and as he goes, his inebriation wears off gradually and as he sobers up, he realizes the reality that his old life has been cut short by fate, and he’s stuck with the life he’s currently living.

POV In-class exercise

The heavy knocks subsided and I breathed sigh of relief. I had almost been afraid that the impudent robber was about to knock down the new mahogany door. I pushed off the pile of t-shirts I had hid under and stood up, stretching my sore limbs. To think! What a story I now had to tell my brother Robert when he came home! A few moments earlier I had cursed him for not coming home on time; if he had arrived home at promptly 4 o’clock, I wouldn’t have had to face the robber alone. Now, I though happily, that I had survived an almost-deadly attack, and he missed out on the fun! Just as I was gloating over this minor triumph, I heard the squeak of the glass door in the back sliding open—shoot! I had forgotten to lock that door! I froze as I heard heavy footsteps downstairs—I knew they were heading towards the drawer where my parents always kept $500 dollars on hand for my sister’s piano lessons and my art lessons. But to my surprise, the footsteps were traveling towards the staircase leading upstairs—towards me! I scrambled back under the safety of the pile of clothes. They must be going for mom’s jewelry, I thought, as the footsteps came nearer and nearer—but instead of turning left towards the master bedroom, they turned towards my room—uh-oh—


POV OF INTRUDER:
I rummaged through my wallet—my jeans pockets—my jacket pockets—and still the silver key was nowhere in sight. Then I remembered that Michelle was home! I knocked on the door and waited for her to appear impatiently at the door and snap, “Did you really need me to open the door for you? Where is your key?” However, not even her shadow could be seen through the textured glass door. I slammed on the door—she must be taking a nap. When frenzied knocking produced still no Michelle at the door, I heaved a sigh and decided to try my luck at the backdoor. Leave it up to Michelle to forget to lock it, despite my dad’s constant warning about burglars. I walked to the back, and to my surprise, the glass door slid open with ease. Anger returned to me when I saw that Michelle’s Nikes were next to the door—so she hadn’t gone out—she’d purposely been ignoring my knocking! I marched upstairs to give her a piece of my mind.

Assigned Blog Post #5: Freshman

Get out of the way of the upperclassmen during passing periods; don’t crowd in the cafeteria during lunch; make sure to bring enough gum for the senior that sits next to you in calculus; but I never chew gum; well that’s all the better—just give it all to the senior then; make sure you do your history homework two days before it’s due so the senior can copy your homework before the due date; be sure to take notes very neatly in biology so the seniors in that class can copy your notes after their long nap in class; be sure to have your phone on during all twenty-four hours of the day in case a senior calls you for help on homework an hour before it’s due; don’t ever say “no” to a senior asking for help; don’t ever complain about any senior; speak only words of praise about a senior; this is how you smile to senior boys; this is how you smile to senior girls; this is how you open the door for senior girls; this is how you open the door for senior boys; this is the type of coffee you get for the seniors in your first period class; this is the type of energy bar you give to the seniors in your fourth period class when they are hungry and want the class to end so they can go to McDonald’s; this is how you help a senior cheat during an important test; this is how you help a senior cheat during an unimportant test; but cheating is not allowed!; you mean to say that after all you are really going to be the type of freshmen that all seniors hate?

Assigned Blog #4: Aegisville Details...

Name of our town: I propose the name Aegisville.

Details: On one side of the town, the little houses should be made of red bricks, warm and cozy—on the other side of town the houses should be made of marble, hard and cold. This difference in the physical setting sort of alludes to the differences between the people who live on the two sides of town—and can serve to foreshadow tension and possible future conflict. Also, the town should be relatively small—so that everyone knows everyone around them. It would be extremely interesting to see how our characters all interact with each other! Also, I think that each town should have a certain “leader” who sort of spurs conflict with the other side—sort of like a politician. And I think that it would be interesting if the students in the high school sort of segregate themselves and only hang out with those students from their side of town, but once students from a foreign region come and compete with their soccer team, they bind together against the foreign team in order to win. Kind of cliché, but I rather like it. (:

Assigned Blog Post #4 - Isaac Buchthal Story

As a baby, Isaac remembered lying in his crib and staring adoringly at the little purple elephant, and red lion, and the orange monkey dangling above him. Even at that young age, he’d felt an intrinsic affinity for these animals—they understood him when no one did; they knew when he was hungry, when he had wet himself, and when he was sleepy; they were there when no one was. And at night, when he was terribly afraid that the Dark had eaten him, he’d open his eyes and from the streaks of light that had crawled into his room from the street outside, he could just make out their shiny painted faces, looking at him with assuring red smiles.

Fast forward a few years and Isaac was in school; he’d been called to the principal’s office countless times because he had turned in a series of “incomplete tests”—he had thought that the elephant standing upright on its hind legs would have made up for the fact that he really didn’t know the answer to problem #24; that the monkey wearing a little vest and a top hat would have made up for the blank on problem #5. The only time he’d paid attention in class was when a substitute showed a video about the circus—everyone, even the substitute, had fallen asleep fifteen minutes into the film—everyone but him. He’d perked up his ears, eyes wide open—he knew that was where he wanted to be. Working at a zoo, his original ambition, was nothing compared to training animals to do tricks!

The next day, he showed up at school with shorts, pulled up almost to his chest by two stringy suspender straps, and his grandfather’s shoes (he had to wear 10 layers of socks for those to fit, but that didn’t matter)—looking like the clown he had seen in the video. Never had he felt so confident. Then and there, he decided that he would never wear anything other than that. An extra bonus, he thought, was that when the circus came to town, he didn’t need to waste any time to dress up—he could just march straight up to the director and tell him that this is where he’d like to work.

And one fateful day, Valentino’s Freak Show came to his town. Isaac was so excited he could barely clip on his suspender straps in the morning! At 4am, he set out towards the fairground where the circus had been set up. It was still dark outside, and his bare knees were covered with goosebumps. But numb with anticipation, he could hardly tell.

His heart pounded as he marched up to the largest tent on the grounds—he assumed this would be the director’s. He cleared his throat and said loudly,

“Excuse me, my name is Isaac Buchthal would like to join your circus."

A scuttling sound came from inside the tent followed by an unzipping of the door flap—by a monkey! The monkey cocked his head to the left, surveyed Isaac, nodded to himself, then held the door flap open with his tiny hairy little hand propped up in the air. Almost instantaneously, Isaac heard a scream.

“Uh-oh,” said the monkey, with a shrug of his little shoulders, “Peaches fainted.”

Peaches?!  Isaac thought he was going insane. Being six feet tall, he couldn’t see inside the tent—you see, the monkey was quite tiny, and he could only hold the flap up so high. Isaac hesitantly bent down and lifted up the flap so he could see inside. And what a sight! “Peaches” was a girl. A girl that could fold herself at the waist, that is. She had apparently been practicing a move in which she lifted her legs up onto her back, so that her head was between her two legs—and upon seeing Isaac—his bare knees in fact—she had fainted. She had a fear of bare knees.

Assigned Blog Post #2

After reading multiple stories from the same writer, do you start to recognize certain styles or patterns they have in their writing? Are there certain aspects of their subjects that they consistently pay special attention to? Do they have a specific or notable sentence structure? Do they tend to go to the same family of similes or metaphors every time? What common threads do you see? What makes the stories “belong” to the writer?
Now think about your own writing. Do you have a specific style? Is there a certain way you write that is different from anyone else? What is your “signature”? Do you have one?

I have realized that each author has a distinct style to their writing, whether it’s the way they develop their characters, the plot of their stories, or even the way they title their stories.

Junot Diaz, for example, chooses to stick with the same characters (Rafa and the narrator remain the same in both stories we’ve read), and he is very consistent in the traits of his characters. Rafa’s taste in women is distinct in both Nilda and Fiesta, 1980—he likes bosomy women, and seemingly lives for physical pleasure. The narrator consistently provides a stark contrast to his brother, because he isn’t a hedonist and he is rather shy around girls.

Diaz also deals with dialogue in an extremely unique way: he doesn’t use quotation marks, but just introduces the beginning of a dialogue with “he/she said” and when the speaker in the dialogue changes, the sentence he/she says is placed at the beginning of a new line.

But what really distinguishes Diaz’s stories from other authors is the culture weaved into the story. The Spanish words used in the stories, the diction used by the narrator, and the descriptions all serve to give the reader an idea of the narrator’s background. For example, the narrator often says “dope”, “kicked our asses”, “Papi”, “Mamo” “tia”, “tio”, “didn’t want to go to no party”, “getting your ass whupped”, “piss him off”, “getting laid” and plenty of not-so-clean language. This diction/slang reveals Yunior’s age (he’s a teenage boy no doubt), and that he probably grew up in a pretty “hood” place.

Moreover, Diaz’s stories often are pretty commonplace—they aren’t shrouded in mystery like Butler’s stories often are. They are simply a snapshot of a time of the narrator’s life—nothing especially out of the ordinary.

And something minor that I also noticed is that Diaz titles his stories with rather short titles—usually a one word noun as opposed to the long, descriptive titles of Robert Olen Butler.

Now let’s explore Robert Olen Butler’s style. Like previously mentioned, he gives his stories an elaborate, suspenseful title—making the reader want to find out what the story is about.

Also, Butler pays particular attention to infusing his stories with imagery that relates specifically to a recurring theme or motif in his story. For example, in Jealous Husband Returns in Form of Parrot, Butler uses descriptions relating to birds and being caged in, like “faint hook to [her nose]”, “her touch makes my tail flare”, “eyes pinned and dilated and pinned again” “somebody is trapped in each of them”. In A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain, Robert Olen Butler uses olfactory imagery—“sweet smell about him” “she smelled of lavender and fresh bedclothes” “smelling of lavender and our own sweat” “Saigon smelled of tar and motorcycle exhaust and cordite”.

Like mentioned before, Butler’s stories often involve a semi-reality: in his stories, there is an element of the supernatural, although it is described in a very believable, almost commonplace and usual, way. In Jealous Husband Returns in Form of Parrot, the husband apparently reincarnated into a parrot, and is bought at the pet store by his ex-wife. As a reader, I question the truth of that, but swept away by the descriptions, details, and the matter-of-factness of the story makes me accept it as reality. Likewise, in A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain, Dao sees Ho Chi Min at his bedside—even though Ho is already dead, and Dao knows that. It seems rather inane to ask the reader to believe that Ho comes back to life again to visit Dao, but with Butler’s persuasive descriptions, it seems as if it really did happen.

I don’t believe I actually have a distinct style—my writing isn’t developed enough for me to have one, but I’m certainly working on it. Before, when I was in elementary/junior high and I wrote stories as a hobby, my style generally involved an intricate, mysterious plot, in which everything resolves itself at the end. Also, I LOVED dialogue, because I felt it made the writing seem natural. Since I’ve taken quite a hiatus in my writing career, I’m trying to develop a style for myself again. I think it’s important for authors to have a distinct style, because that’s what creates a loyal reader base for that author—boosting personal career satisfaction as well as sales! Just like singers should create their own style rather than emulate others, this is an important step for a writer.

"Nilda" Thoughts...

I really enjoyed reading the short story “Nilda”, because I felt that the narrator and the other characters in the story (Nilda, Rafa) were really brought to life by the author’s descriptions and the dialogue. What I liked the most about this short story was the stark, unembellished truthfulness of the narrator. He didn’t hide the dark, dirty little secrets of his brother; he didn’t portray Nilda partially simply because he had feelings for her. This really demonstrated the quote that Professor Cassie read to us at the beginning of class today—the gist being that in order for a story to be believable, every good character needed to have flaws; no character is perfect, thus they each have to face certain adverse consequences for their little foibles. What was so captivating about this story was the fact that it showed that each character was multi-faceted, and it also shows the brutal reality of life.

            To begin with Rafa: at the beginning of the story, he seems to have everything going for him—good looks and hot girls. The way he worked his charm with Nilda on the bus and when he told her to make tea for him shows that he can win whatever girl his heart desires. However, the darker side of his personality was that he is extremely sexual—he seems to only desire Nilda for her body. Through the author’s descriptions, I could definitely conjure up an image of Rafa—a composition of several of the boys I have known. Because of this element of truth, I was able to feel for the character—I was able to visualize the character and the story in my mind.

            Nilda: from the very first paragraph, we are able to see Nilda very distinctly. I could picture a caramel-skinned, busty girl with sensual curves. Although the narrator likes Nilda, he doesn’t disguise her with purely-positive descriptions—he admits that she is “brown trash” and sexually-promiscuous. However, the narrator also reveals that Nilda has higher ambitions for the future, and although she is promiscuous, she wants emotional, not just physical affection from Rafa. I’ve known a lot of girls like Nilda, so I can sympathize with her. Because of all the attention she gets from her looks, she starts using this asset to win affection—attracting the attention of guys that don’t exactly have her best interest in mind. Thus, she loses the drive to follow her ambitions—instead she makes herself almost a slave for the guy she likes, this being shown by how she always visits Rafa at his house, sometimes having to wait outside until he wakes up if he slept late the night before. And although she tells Rafa her ambitions, what really happens to her is that she has to work in jobs like newspaper deliverer and laundress, she gets her tooth knocked out, and she doesn’t find true love.

            The narrator: he doesn’t try to disguise the fact that he isn’t as good looking and charming as his brother, or that after his brother’s death, he was “on the way to becoming a nut”. Moreover, through the way he describes his brother’s actions and lack of respect towards Nilda, the narrator demonstrates his own character, and his own morals. He seems like the type of guy that is always in his glamorous brother’s shadow, but is actually a much nicer and respectful guy than his brother.

            Another element of the author’s writing that really brought the characters to life was the dialogue. It really showed the narrator’s and Rafa’s background and culture—the vulgar and crude language demonstrated that they probably grew up “in the hood”, the Spanish that their mother speaks shows that they have a Hispanic background.

            Additionally, I felt that the story really communicated to me the message that beauty without brains and ambition can be a curse. Which boy hasn’t wished they were so handsome that they could win whichever girl their heart desired? Even the narrator himself admitted that he would trade his high IQ for a face like his brother. Which girl hasn’t wished for head-turning, heart-breaking beauty that would leave all the boys at her disposal? However, this story shows that despite the beauty of both Rafa and Nilda—neither one got far in life because they were too preoccupied with the moment. Rafa wanted immediate physical satisfaction, Nilda wanted to be showered with attention for her good looks. Who ended up as the best-faring out of the three? The narrator—who has average looks, but intelligence to make up for that.

Assigned Blog Post #1: Truth

Prompt: What do you think about truth in fiction? How much truth surfaces in your writing? How much of yourself? Does something that comes from a true story resonate more with a reader? (Think about stories or essays you have read.) What role does truth have in our creative work?
Although it may seem paradoxical, I believe that truth is a crucial element in fiction. A definition of “fiction” in the diction is “a made-up story”. Does that mean the story is false and untrue? I would argue no; fiction is simply truth taken to the next level. Fiction writers know how to build the story on a foundation of truth—to earn the reader’s trust—and although this is where most non-fiction writers stop, fiction writers take it even further: they expand the reader’s definition of “truth”. Because my favorite book is Olive Kitteridge, I feel that I must reference this book again to prove this point. Although the story is obviously not “true” in the most narrow definition of the word—that the characters in the story never really existed in real life; the events never really happened—but the book is one of the “truest” stories I’ve ever read in my life. Never had I felt so much empathy for a character in the story. I felt like I was vicariously living Olive’s life. She was as real to me as the face I see in the mirror. And through the author Elizabeth Strout’s detailed, animated portrayal of Olive, she created truth from the black letters on the white page. Before reading the book, my own definition of truth did not include Olive, but after I read the book, Olive was a part of truth for me. I could hardly have known Olive better if she had been a real person.

In any fiction story, the more outrageous the fiction aspect, the more the story is grounded in truth. Take J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter. Could anything be more fatuous than magic, witches, wizards, and dark lords? Yet the existence of so many websites and forums dedicated solely to the world of Harry Potter, the long lines at 2 AM in front of bookstores before the release of a sequel in the series, the millions of people that dress up as a character from Harry Potter and attend midnight screenings of the movies—these all testify to the truth of Harry Potter. Readers have all been “enchanted and bewitched” by Rowling into believing her story wholeheartedly.

So why is truth so crucial? Because a true story does resonate more with a reader—skillful description by an author can teleport a reader from a library, study, or bedroom into a completely different world—but this all begins with a reader willing to believe. And what makes someone believe? Truth. If the most absurd thing is described in terms the reader understands and can picture and this absurdity is consistent throughout the story, soon the reader becomes accustomed to it and will no longer think of it as weird. Moreover, the most important part of truth is the truth that lies in the characters. The characters must have certain quirks; the characters must demonstrate human emotion; characters must talk naturally; and the most believable characters have a good and a bad side. The next worst thing to living with someone perfect is having to read about someone who is completely perfect. Because everyone has a sinful side, nothing is more endearing than another person who shares in that sin, but still succeeds despite of it (or perhaps because of it!).
Because I’m a firm believer that truth in fiction is what creates the most enjoyment for the reader, I try to incorporate truth into my writing. I always make my characters have certain idiosyncrasies because no one is perfect, and everyone loves and cheers for the underdog. I also try to exploit the human emotions to help me build credibility in the eyes of the reader. I try to expose the tender feelings of even the most callous characters; a shadow of a tear on the corner of the villain’s eyes when her daughter pushes her away; a villain’s recollections of a childhood full of neglect and abandonment.

Stories...Short and Long

After reading several short stories in English 237, I’ve started to really admire and respect short story writers. Writers like Hemingway, Updike, and Bausch are able to put so much information into a mere three pages. The defining characteristic of writing good short stories is being able to vividly, yet concisely, tell a story. After writing the first assignment on “searching for something lost”, I’ve discovered that that will be my biggest challenge in this class. I am not used to developing a plot in a few pages; I can’t seem to breathe life into my characters through only a few paragraphs. Also, from this initial assignment, I realized that short stories take a lot more planning than do long novels. Usually, the stories I like to write are of great length, so I can usually work on the plot and tweak it as I go. Oftentimes, the plot unravels itself as I am writing it; everything falls into place naturally. The best ideas I have are while I am writing, and the ideas usually blend in seamlessly to the rest of the story. However, with short stories, the plot is often extremely neat and trim, and superfluous details aren’t allowed. Thus, I am forced to plan out everything in advance—so that all the pieces of the puzzle fit together cohesively. With this procedure, I am not quite accustomed. Nevertheless, I have faith that I will improve through reading, analyzing, and writing practice short stories.
As a writer, I have a strong predilection for reading and writing stories that thoroughly develops a character, and I hope that I will be able to work this style into my short stories also. I am thinking of borrowing Elizabeth Strout’s structure in Olive Kitteridge—creating a novel by adjoining several short stories. This would allow the reader to really identify with, relate to, and feel for the characters in my story—and this, to me, will be extremely satisfying.

Beginning Thoughts

I’ve always loved reading and writing, but the subject of my interest has always been novels—that is, before this summer. I was never a fan of short stories before then; short stories never satiated my constant curiosity and my desire to loyally follow a character through their emotional journey through life. I thought it cruel for an author to introduce me to a character, only to wrench the character away after a few paragraphs. What’s the point in getting acquainted when an inexorable breakup is eminent? Moreover, a few pages did not provide enough information for me to fully understand and feel affection for a character. Thus, I never bothered reading short stories; nor did I ever write them.

However, Elizabeth Strout’s Olive Kitteridge completely changed my impression of short stories. I realized how satisfying it is to peek into the lives of a myriad of characters; to be enlightened by a bit of everyone’s secrets. Ever since I’ve read her book, I’ve been inspired to emulate her style and produce a work similar to hers. Through taking Professor Cross’ class, I hope to develop and hone my skills in this domain, and grow as a writer.

I’ve realized that there are advantages to short stories. Since the stories are so short, only the crucial facts are included, so there is never a dull moment. Moreover, short stories allow the reader to use their imagination to supply parts of the story line. It is very satisfying, as a reader, to be able to tacitly understand the author without being blatantly told every little detail. It is like being equipped with the pieces of a puzzle by the author, but putting the pieces together independent of the author. Thus, I’m extremely excited to learn how to write a good short story!