You Are Not Alone
Image by Luis Barros. Follow him on Instagram (@luishb) for wonderful images, each one brimming with story possibilities.
Being a grown up can be lonely.
Being a writer can be lonely.
Being a grown-up writer can be seriously lonely, but it doesn’t have to be.
Last weekend I watched my daughter compete in a mountain bike race. It was my first time at this kind of event. Mountain biking is something she does on weekends with her dad. The wooded trails with their steep drops, tight turns, and obstacle course of mean rocks and wily roots are his territory.
There were more than four hundred riders, many with friends and family in tow, milling around the trampled corn field that served as a staging area for the organizers preparing to release the different classes of riders onto the course. We haven’t had any real rain here in weeks, so the movement of riders and spectators stirred up clouds of dust that dimmed the bright colors of the riders’ racing garb and gave the scene an air of festive chaos – like cowboys preparing to move an anxious herd across an arid plain, or young daredevils limbering up just before dashing out in front of Spanish bulls.
Though I finally spotted my daughter, and my beau was at my side, I felt like a stranger lost in some exotic land. The conversations that swirled around me with the dust and dirt may as well have been in a foreign language. Technical chatter about different kinds of bikes and gear sounded like gibberish, and then there were all the riding terms – endo, grinder, kick-out. Riders compared war stories and battle scars, referencing techniques and trails in a quick banter that left me curious but completely baffled.
And then, through all this noise and color and motion, I heard a voice ask, “Is that a Grub Street t-shirt?”
Grub Street is a writing center in Boston, and the shirt I was wearing was one I had picked up at their annual conference a couple of years ago. It’s hard to miss – a charcoal gray tee with a keyboard printed in white across the front.
The speaker, as it turned out, was not only a fellow writer and Grubbie, but also a Grub Street instructor and a friend of the woman who is teaching the flash fiction class I’m currently taking. Small world.
Our conversation was brief (we both had riders to cheer), but those few words exchanged made me feel at home. Even there, amidst all the unfamiliar sights and sounds, I was suddenly grounded in the fact that I am a writer in a community of writers. And, we are everywhere.
The trouble is, we’re not always easy to recognize. Mountain bikers, runners, boaters, even gardeners – these people are easy to identify by their garb, gear, and equipment. They congregate regularly for group events, display their badges of membership for all to see, and often practice their passion right out in the open.
We writers usually fly a bit farther under the radar. Though we do have our classes and conferences, these events rarely garner much attention from non-writers. A road race with hundreds of bicycles, driving club with dozens of antique cars, or garden club doing spring cleanup around town are likely to attract the attention of even the most unobservant. A group of writers meeting in a coffee shop or even attending a large conference in an urban center are likely to go completely unnoticed.
It’s almost like we’re members of a secret society. And, who knows? Maybe, unbeknownst to even ourselves, we’re actually a silent majority.
My point is this: keep your eyes open.
You never know when a fellow writer might be standing right next to you, or seated at the next table, or across the aisle on the subway. The barista at your local coffee shop might be a writer, or your bank teller, or your child’s teacher. Perhaps the woman who organized the school bake sale is working on a memoir, your mailman could be writing a cozy mystery, or the young lady who jogs by your house every morning might be working on collection of nature essays.
Look for clues. Listen carefully. Maybe you’ll notice someone writing in a notebook or reading a a book on story structure. Maybe you’ll hear someone mention a writing podcast or a reading. Sometimes, all it takes is a t-shirt.
We’re out there. Everywhere. You are never alone.
What I’m {Learning About} Writing: Flash Isn’t Just About Brevity
So, I’m a week-and-a-half into the flash fiction course I’m taking via Grub Street, and the more I learn about this form, the more fascinated I become.
The first way people define flash fiction (aka short short stories, micro fiction, and a handful of other miniature monikers) is by word count. The jury is out on exactly how few words warrant the label “flash” – 300, 500, 1,000 – but the general gist is, of course, that flash is short.
Brevity, however is not the whole story by a long stretch.
Though the number of words appearing on the page is few, the world of a really great piece of flash fiction is as expansive as real life.
To write flash, you must know much more than what you reveal in your prose. A piece of flash fiction is like the proverbial tip of the iceberg, the brilliant bit that shows above the surface and reflects the light of the sun and moon, while the full bulk and weight of the story exists below the surface. That shining tip cannot exist without the rest of the iceberg to buoy it up.
Writing flash is, I’m learning, much like creating a poem or a work of visual art. Each word has a part to play. There is no excess, no dead weight. In order for a writer to craft the tip of the iceberg so that the reader feels the heft and gravity of the rest of the icy behemoth lurking in the depths, she must understand the whole. Only by understanding the whole can she find the right words to craft her flash story so that it reflects the entire reality that exists behind that handful of words.
Can you blame me for being fascinated?
What I’m Reading: 100wordstory.com
I’m still in the middle of reading a couple of novels, but not yet through either one, so I’m not ready to share.
Meanwhile, one of my fellow students in the flash class turned me on to the site 100wordstory.org.
Talk about seriously short pieces.
It’s hard not to rip through this collection the way a child might rip through a bag of m&m’s, but if you were to do that, you’d be missing out. As short as they are, each of these stories deserves its own space. Part of the beauty of this super short form is that you can read a piece several times over, and each time have a slightly different experience.
If you’re curious about flash fiction, or just need a quick story fix in the middle of a busy day, I recommend 100wordstory.org. Just try not to get too addicted.
And let’s not forget the blogs. Here are a few of my favorite writerly posts from this week:
The Naked Truth: How to Write a Book And Get It Done by Gail Brenner via @writetodone
3 Traps to Avoid When Writing a Rough Draft by Marcy McKay via @write_practice
Balancing the Loneliness of the Writing Life by @kristenhoughton
Here’s Why Famous Authors Chose Their Fake Names by Sara Boboltz
Kurt Vonnegut’s 8 Tips on Writing a Good Short Story via @openculture
The Zen of Organized Writing: 5 Steps You Can Take Today by Bryan Collins via @writetodone
How to Increase Your Content’s Shareability by @andreispsyched via @jaybaer
Do What Works for You But Make Sure It’s Really Working by @taragentile
The Trap of Your Comfort Zone by @DanBlank via @writerunboxed
You Can Master Classic Story Structure by Jerry B. Jenkins via @storyfix
102 Resources to Transform Your Writing by Jenna Dalton via @writetodone
Finally, a quote for the week:
In lieu of a quote, I’d like to share this reality check/pep talk from one of the writers behind my favorite writing podcast, Writing Excuses. Hat-tip to the lovely Sharon Abra Hanen (aka @wellfedpoet) for this find. Loved it.
Here’s to recognizing each other out in the wilds of the real world. Happy writing. Happy reading.
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Jamie Lee Wallace Hi. I’m Jamie. I am a content marketer and branding consultant, columnist, sometime feature writer, prolific blogger, and aspiring fiction writer. I’m a mom, a student of equestrian and aerial arts (not at the same time), and a nature lover. I believe in small kindnesses, daily chocolate, and happy endings. Introduce yourself on Facebook, twitter, Instagram, or Pinterest. I don’t bite … usually.
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