Wednesday
Having access, at times, to flash writers' first drafts, I am now and then surprised at how short the time period can be from first draft to submission and acceptance and publication. For those who like to diss flash as being a shortcut to having to write a real story, it would seem that it might appear also to be a shortcut to having to revise a story over a period of weeks or months and then wait more months to hear back from a journal about its fate. Flash, it would seem, not only compresses story but also the process of story, from drafting all the way to publication. Write it, workshop it, submit it, and see it published all in a week's time. That's a hard thing to resist, isn't it?
I do resist it, but I wonder if I do so not because it's a necessity to getting the kind of flash piece I desire (but never quite do) or because I'm kind of wedded to the idea of that drawn-out process of drafting, workshopping, revising, additional workshopping, additional revising, editing, tweaking, and so forth.
I imagine the easy answer is that the necessity of having to "wait" has more to do with each individual writer's process and/or each individual piece than with an overarching, universal rule about it. And of course some writers who wait might be better off sending out right away, and those who send it out quickly might have been better off waiting.
One would think/hope that there's a rawness and edginess to the quick drafted and quick revised and quick submitted flash, something to be gained about that process that is more true to the compressed form than the process that takes weeks and months to complete. If one were to take the time to look at the two different products that result, one might be able to come up with real conclusions. But who has the time for that?
Well, today's therapy session asks you to do what I am doing, because of course that's the surefire pathway to sanity. If you do it quickly, try slowing it down; if you're like me and prefer the drawn-out way, speed it up a bit. Tragedy teaches us that for every gain there's a commensurate loss (bite the apple but lose your innocence), so life seems to be this constant balancing act. But screw this risk/reward attitude. This therapy session says see what's gained by changing the process. What do you have to lose?
For further reading, check out FlashFiction.Net's suggested readings of flash fiction and prose poetry collections, anthologies, and craft books, by clicking here.
