Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman
Flash fiction works well
for horror. We have the word from both Edgar Allan Poe, who said that
a reader should be able to read a horror story in “a single
sitting”—and he was talking short stories, not flash fiction as
such. Although he was vague (what constitutes “a single sitting”?),
we can, perhaps, get some direction from famed director Alfred
Hitchcock, who brought both Psycho
(1960) and The Birds
(1963) to the big screen. He declared, “The length of a film should
be directly related to the endurance of the human bladder.”
Of
course, his definition is also somewhat obscure: the “endurance of
the human bladder” is apt to differ, sometimes considerably, among
individuals. However, adults average 120
to 240 minutes between visits to the restroom to urinate.
Assuming that Hitchcock applied his own criterion to the films he
directed, a horror film, at least, should be between 109 minutes
(Psycho) and 119
minutes (The Birds),
which are well within the guidelines that he himself established.
Definitions
of the permissible word
length of “flash fiction” stories differ, with some
suggesting that such stories should be no more than 600 to 1,000
words, while others argue that flash fiction stories could be as long
as 2,000 words. Flash fiction author Michael Williams, author of
Tales with a Twist,
tries to stay at or below 1,000 words, but, occasionally, he admits,
one of his stories reaches 1,200 words:
“I
think setting my goal as 1,000 words, maximum, helps me focus. It
gives me something to shoot for, but I wouldn't sacrifice a good
story just to stay within an artificially imposed limit; if I have to
go beyond, 1,000 words, I have to go beyond 1,000 words. For me,
though, that's the exception. Most stories I write can be done
well—probably better—in 1,000 words or fewer.”
Research
finds that most people read at a rate of between 200 and 250 words
per minute, so a flash fiction story, for most readers, would
certainly meet both Poe's and Hitchcock's definitions:
A
flash fiction story isn't characterized only by its brevity, however.
“Flash fiction stories—I usually refer to them as flashes—usually
end with a twist,” Williams says. “That's part of the their
appeal, part of their fun. It's also a large part of their
popularity.”
There
are various ways to “twist a tale.”
One
is to start with an outrageous, or even seemingly impossible,
incident or situation. That's part one, the beginning, of the story.
It hooks the reader. Then, follow with a logical result of this
initial incident or situation. That's the middle of the story. The
end of the story, part three, delivers the twist.
One
way to generate the twist itself is to play with the six questions
related to any form of communication: Who?, What?, When?, Where? How?
and Why? Make a list, as complete as possible, of possible answers to
each of these questions as they relate to your story's premise.”
Here's
an example:
Beginning:
A snowman melts, revealing a corpse.
Middle:
Police respond.
End
(twist):
. . . .
To
come up with the twist, start the list of answers to the seven
questions that apply to any form of communication, including fiction:
- WHO? WHO is the dead person? If he or she was murdered, WHO is the murder? WHO might be a character in the story? The body, of course and the murderer (if there was a murder). The police officers. A neighbor. The mail carrier. A repair person. A bus or a taxi driver or passenger. A spouse. A child, minor or adult. A delivery person. A maintenance person. A utility worker. A meter reader. A sanitation employee.
- WHAT? What happened to the dead person? Murder? Suicide? A prank gone wrong? An ill-advised advertisement? An attention-seeking act gone astray?
- WHEN? A two-day interval, on day one of which the person is encased in snow and, on day two of which, he or she is found as the snowman begins to melt.
- WHERE? The front yard of a suburban home.
- HOW? The person encased in snow freezes to death over night.
- WHY? (This is usually the point at which the twist suggests itself, although any of the six questions could prompt an answer that includes the story's twist): A prop master who remains employed by his uncle, a movie director, despite the prop master's Alzheimer's, forgets that he has packed snow over an actor's body, and repeatedly does so, rather than freeing the actor from the “snowman” after the shot is complete, causing the unintended victim to die of exposure overnight.
Notice
that the twist, in this example, is the result of the WHY? question,
but the identity of the killer does not appear among the answers to
the WHO? question. This just goes to show that, in actual practice,
the questions themselves may not produce the “answer” that
provides the twist, but, without having gone through this process,
it's unlikely that the idea would have occur at all. Answering the
questions starts the ball rolling, the mind thinking, and the
imagination visualizing.
Now,
we can complete the framework, or skeleton, of the story's plot:
Beginning:
A snowman melts, revealing a corpse.
Middle:
Police respond.
End
(twist): A prop master,
having developed Alzheimer's, forgets that he has packed snow over an
actor's body and repeatedly does so, rather than freeing the actor
from the “snowman” after the shot is complete, causing the
unintended victim to die of exposure overnight.
Note:
As in any story, before writing it, you need to research any
technical aspects of the plot to make sure they are accurate. For
example, would a person freeze to death if encased in snow overnight
or would he or she suffocate? How long would such a death, whether of
hypothermia or suffocation, take? Maybe overnight isn't long enough.
Research and revise, as necessary. If the technical reality doesn't
allow the ending you've conceived, think of one that will
stand the test of the facts.
Article
Word Length: 1,014
Estimated
Reading Time: 4.05 to 5.07 minutes
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