Crash Course: Flash Fiction in 1000 to 1500 Words
In 2015, I taught a 4 day Flash Fiction Workshop for rising 8th -12th graders at the Stevenson Summer Writer’s Workshop. We met for 75 minutes each day and progressively moved from short short stories to micro stories. We examined methods, purposes, terminology, and benefits of writing Flash. I have taken the readings and exercises from that workshop, and tinkered with them to create standalone crash courses in different writing lengths and to make the exercises more appropriate for a wider audience.
Flash fiction. Whether you’re familiar with the term or not, I guarantee you’ve read some somewhere. It’s a very popular form of fiction dating back hundreds of years, before it had such a catchy name. In basic terms, it is anything shorter than 1500 words, and it’s gaining popularity. Likely both because writers enjoy the thrill of writing and editing in a condensed space, and because readers have more brief breaks for reading, now that we carry smart phones everywhere we go. But, also likely because like Aladdin’s genie, it’s got the potential of “phenomenal, cosmic power” in an “itty, bitty living space.”
But how do you write it? How do you tell a full story without slipping into sounding like an outline, summary, or incomplete scene? What is it beyond a word count? And why should you bother?
Welcome to my Crash Course in Flash Fiction: 1000 to 1500 Words. This workshop is designed to give you a fast but hearty introduction to writing stories in the 1000 to 1500 word range. We’ll discuss typical approaches to writing it, expose you to a number of online outlets for flash content, and most importantly, explore the value of condensed storytelling, both for those who adapt the form for publication and those who choose to learn from it to improve longer works.
The readings and activities should take you less than 2 hours (and were originally completed in 75 minutes in an in person version of the course).
If you enjoy this, I will also be publishing Crash Courses for 300–800 words, 100–300 words, and 10 words-140 characters.
Opening Activity:
This first activity comes from the Bored and Brilliant Challenge, created by Manoush Zomorodi, the host and managing editor of Note to Self. Bored and Brilliant was designed to showcase the relationship between allowing ourselves to be bored, and creativity. I recommend the challenge to anyone writing, but for our purposes today, we will only be borrowing the house challenge.
Step 1: Using only what you have on you or within arm’s reach , build your dream house.
Step 2: Name it.
You can view houses others have built as part of the Bored and Brilliant Challenge here if you’re not quite sure what this could look like.
Take your time.
Is your dream home complete? (Resume reading once it is.)
Do you like it? Would you have looked at those objects and thought about them creatively if not for this activity? If I’d taken you to a craft store with an unlimited budget, would you have built the same thing? Likely, you would have chosen modeling wood and paint, or drafting paper, or clay, and approached the assignment very conventionally in terms of form and function. Your home may not have ended up with the same features.
This activity forced you to take everyday items and give them a new purpose, a new meaning, a new way of viewing them.
What does this have to do with flash fiction? Like a small word count, it’s a constraint.
One of the best things about writing is that we can write whatever we want, however we want. So, you may be wondering why we would want to put a limitation on that with something as mundane as a word count.
The answer is that constraints help us to think constructively as well as creatively. It forces us to pay attention in a way our typical writing sessions simply do not, which helps us to view everyday tools, in this case words, in ways that we never would have bothered otherwise. Thus we usually create things we never would have without being forced. Good things. Useful things (perhaps unlike dollar bill houses).
In the case of flash fiction, we learn a lot about the power of words and reader assumption. We learn what details and phrases are most loaded, heavy with enough implication to shock our characters into existence and break our readers’ hearts within the breath of a comma.
You may be a creative person in general. But, when working with a constraint — trying to solve a problem — you challenge that big creative brain of yours to engineer new ideas, new perspectives.
In short, putting yourself in a box is the fastest way to learn how to think out of one.
Let’s Start by Reading. What’s possible?
We’re going to start by reading and examining “long” flash fiction, (What some may refer to as “short short stories”), stories of 1000–1500 words, and as the week goes on, we’re going to get shorter and shorter, until by day 4 we are looking at 6 word stories and Twitter Tales.
There are plenty of famous and established flash stories available, many of which you may have read in school or college without someone so much as uttering the word “flash,” but to demonstrate the form is alive and well, today we’ll be looking at more modern pieces written by everyday writers like you. And, this should also give you an idea of some places you can submit or write flash once you’re done with your exercises here.
1500 Words or less:
This story is from NYC Midnight’s Short Story competition. This is a 1300 word story written in only 24 hours. The author was given a genre, a character, and a theme.
“Relief” by Susannah Carlson: A heart warming and tragic Historical Fiction about a rescue.
1000 words or less for reading:
These are winners from NYC Midnight’s Flash Fiction Challenge. Contestants are given a location, object, and genre. All must be used in a 1000 word (or less) story. Besides being good, a full story is told within these 1000 words. Sometimes when people attempt flash at this length, they end up describing a scene or offer what is really a prose poem. These don’t make that mistake. All the words are doing something necessary. What is most extraordinary about the pieces below is that they were written and revised within 48 hours to specific prompts. Constraints within constraints within constraints. And by writers of all levels of professionalism. No one here is “renowned” for their flash stories, which should help make the form feel all the more obtainable.
Note: If you are asked to subscribe when trying to visit these stories, you can simply close the box (upper right). After that, you will be able to read. However, subscription is free if you are interested, and involves occasionally getting emails about upcoming contests.
“Without Parallel” by Rachael Dunlop : A story in a world where everyone is born as a twin but only one ever survives adolescence.
“In It” by Vicent Dumont-Mackay: He has the thief, but they’re both standing on thin ice.
Hoodlums by Lesley PJ Reaves: They didn’t ask for a garden. They also didn’t vandalize it. They were framed. What will they do now?
The Harvest by Shirley Chan: A horror story about a baker that comes to town, but this of course is not your average baker.
Three Minute Fiction (Often About 600 words):
Yes, these are often notably shorter than 1000 words, but they do vary over the course of the series, and I think it is important sometimes to see that things can be made shorter than our goal (as those extra 400 words suddenly feel like a luxury instead of trap.)
The word count on these vary, but they can be read in 3 minutes on radio, so usually we hit closer to the 600 word mark. They are part of NPR’s 3 Minute fiction contest. The contestants are asked to tell a story about something in particular. For the ones below, contests crafted stories about a character who found something and had no intention of returning it.
“The Shirt” by Jennifer Anderson: A wife finds her husband’s old hideous shirt and gives it exactly what it deserves.
“Litter” by Kalad Hovatter: What exactly is someone’s soul, and what does it mean to give it away? This one is a little more abstract, but we still have a character arc.
Hopefully, after taking a look at these stories, you have a bit of an idea of how flash can incorporate all kinds of perspectives and genres and voices. This is barely scratching the surface in all honestly. Flash can be any genre, and is just as exploratory as regular fiction.
Important Components of Flash:
Flash must still be a story, not a prose poem. There still must be a sense of something coming to a completion. A clear plot and set of relationships. So how do we pull this off in so little time?
- A clear change in character or expectations. This means that enough development needs to happen so that we appreciate the change in the character or don’t feel bamboozled by the shift. In both cases, establishing character and/or expectations as quickly and vibrantly as possible allows us to focus on the pivotal events at hand. This also means that we are meeting the character closer to the climax or life changing event than we do in longer stories. Like any story, flash can be character or plot driven, but most tend to be character driven as it is easier to have internal growth in a short space than it is an eventful passing of time.
- A clear goal and setting. These things help to make the reader feel at home quickly in the story. If you’ve ever tuned into a movie partway through or a sitcom mid season, you know how unsettling it can be trying to figure out what is going on. However, we’ve all had those moments where we tune in, and even though we don’t know the past, we can fully appreciate the scene we’re seeing thanks to some telling details. This (when it works) is how Flash tends to read. We don’t need to know their life story, just the the story of now. Having a clear sense of place and purpose grounds the reader very quickly. Even if this goal changes or is pulled from under them, they won’t feel lost.
- Tight prose. Every word must count. Every word should be doing a job. All styles can work, but words that aren’t doing much have no place in short works. A novel can get away with describing a scene for as long as it wants or including side stories that perhaps aren’t vital to the main story arc, but short fiction has no such luxury. There can be no distractions — or the readers will feel like something is missing or wasn’t fully developed. Seems contradictory, but it’s true. And sections that repeat an already established idea stand out like sore repetitive bruises.
- Go light on the number of characters. You’ll note that most of the stories above have no more than 3 characters of relevance. The more people we have to get to know, the more the reader has to keep track of but with less words and time to establish those characters or relationships. It isn’t impossible for you or them, but it is a lot to ask, and you’ll end up with a richer story nine times out of ten if you say goodbye to unnecessary side characters.
- Say it once and mean it. Repeat only if vital to style or change in the story. As we draft our stories, we are learning who our characters are, where we are, why we’re there. So, we try lots of different ways to say the exact same thing. And, even in revision, we leave those repetitions in there, mistaking them for establishing consistency. In flash, you have to learn to trust your reader and yourself. You may need to draft 3 ways of demonstrating your character is lonely, or that the town disapproves of an event, but you may only need one in the final copy to convince your readers it is true. And unless the plot is largely about dealing with the town’s disapproval, you probably don’t need too many re-examples of that disapproval. Pay careful attention to what you say about setting and character, or the types of ancillary actions included. Often the repeats are expository anyway, and can better be shown through an action or decision.
In short, make it meaningful for the character. Include change. Make every word count. And have fun.
Exercise:
Practice in Cutting
Writing a story of a 1000 -1500 words takes some time, even if the story is short. So, for today’s practice we are going to take an already written story and turn it into a flash.
Rules:
1. The story must be shorter when you are finished but still be a story and still be “complete.” If you’re starting with a story in the 2000 range, aim to make it 1500. If you’re starting around 1500, aim for 1000. Starting around 1200, aim for 800 words.
2. You can rewrite, delete/cut, or add to any part of it you want to. Yes, condensing could mean ADDING a new detail that does the work of two old ones. You may find changing something in the plot allows you to cut other scenes. Likely you may find that two events or several details all serve the same type of purpose. Pick the one that best serves the purpose, and cut the rest. Watch your sentences for similarly unnecessary words or actions.
You’ll find that most of your cuts should target words. Here’s a bit of an exaggerated example:
“She heard a knock at the door. Who could it be? She rose, walked to the door, and turned the handle. She opened the door only just enough to see who was on the other side. Ah, it was just the pizza delivery.”
Can easily become:
“A knock interrupted her thoughts. She padded to the door and eased it open, just a crack. Oh, the pizza delivery.”
Not only are there less words, but the scene becomes more efficient. ‘Oh’ suggests she forgot the delivery without the lengthy suspense of the walk to the door or words like “it was just”; “padded” and “eased” give us the sense of slowness from the earlier passage in a shorter space and the character is easier to visualize; it is obvious the knock would be at the door, so we do not need to state this. Readers assume the knock is at the door which is why other authors always tell us if a knock is coming “from the window,” so that doesn’t need saying, just like she cannot open the door without turning the handle, thus we don’t need to say so. We also get a better sense of her movements and a context for the interruption (an added detail: she’s in thought, not really doing anything else, and we may wonder what is on her mind.)
3. When you’re done, re-read the new version. Which do you prefer? Why? Did you lose a certain kind of rhythm or style, or gain one? Were you forced to examine the importance of flashbacks, dialogue, and physical action? Did you discover a number of dialogue tags were unnecessary? Was a side character performing a service or action that could have easily been caused by something or someone else already in the story? Did you need to start the story somewhere new? If you played with chronology, were you able to cut unnecessary scenes? If you preferred the longer version, what elements make the story inappropriate or difficult for flash? How could you avoid those elements in a new flash piece?
My Own Reflection:
If I’m being fully honest, most of my flash stories start out as drafts over 2000 words (even ones for timed contests). I’m one of those writers that just needs to write it all out to figure out what the most important part is and who my characters are. A true “pantser.” (A term for writers who don’t delay with outlines and just fly by the seat of their pants.) So this first activity isn’t that far off from my normal approach to flash fiction. I have learned that not all stories should fit the smaller space, but I’ve also learned that most of them can and all of them are far better off for having tried.
Alternate Version of the Exercise:
In the original workshop, we did an alternate version of the exercise. Many students didn’t have a draft short enough to work with on hand, so we used a draft shared from an online forum. It was 1004 words long, and I told students to try to cut it down to 600 words. By using the same story, we were able to see how different methods of condensing changed the efficiency and effectiveness and style of the story. Several students were able to cut the story down to under 700 words in less than half an hour, and many actually ended up with a richer, more interesting story, after edits. Cutting down a draft that doesn’t belong to you can be quicker though, as you’re less emotionally invested in the words on the page. If you do decide to use a story that is not your own, remember to save a copy of the original work with the author’s name in the same document as your version, and to not publish it. Such an activity should be used for learning purposes only, not to plagiarize.
After this exercise, we discussed how it is possible to cut words without cutting content. If you’re writing flash right, most cutting should be of words, not necessarily content.
If you have a writing buddy, try this challenge with them. Pick the same story or draft to work on, set a timer, and get to cutting. When you’re finished, compare the results. You’ll be amazed at the different ways you both chose to cut the story down and at the effects those decisions had on the overall feel or message of the piece.
Conclusion:
At the end of today, the important things to take away is that flash tends to focus on the most important parts of the story, meaning we cut into the plot line much closer to climax or reveal than in longer stories. It also means that words need to work. There is little room for excess langue, actions, or descriptions that don’t establish new (or necessary) information, nor extra characters/relationships. And, you need to ground your readers quickly. Flash operates on balancing need-to-know information with vivid prose, and must still feel like a story. Often, the first thing we learn from writing flash is that our longer form writing too frequently takes advantage of higher word counts for lazy sentences and developmental experimentation.
On that note, imagine the vivid, expressive, full of life stories you can tell in 3000–5000 words, if writing with the tight focused prose of flash.
If you enjoyed this Crash Course, please keep a look out for my next Crash Course: Flash Fiction in 300–600 Words, we’ll review how removing words does not necessarily equal removing content (it may even mean adding it), and we’ll try our hands at 500 word stories.
See you then. In the meantime, happy writing!
This post was originally published as part of a series, but has been edited to be a stand alone crash course.
