Monday, March 7, 2016

a short story about the short story.

I see the short story as a concise machine or mechanism, specializing in one movement, like the tossing of a griddle cake from the burner to the plate, steaming-the armature, catapulted by artificial means of locomotion, moving through the air in an abrupt motion, then falling back into place for another repetition of the movement.

Therein is an assemblage of elements that hopefully form something of a cohesive picture within the context of a short narrative, a picture to be understood, and barring understanding, at least to be felt or in some way enjoyed by the reader.

A slice of life.  An episode.  Often a joke, with the punchline forming the last paragraph, as the author leaves us to laugh or smile.  The last line can then have a punch, acting as the cognitive punctuation, or natural edge of the proverbial cliff or the top of the mountain, unlike pieces of music trailing into nothing, but this being more like a car crash, in which there is a abrupt stop, which itself conjures its own effect, the proceeding nothingness.

We also see stories with sandboxed vernacular can then point a story to a certain audience of experts or at best, to laymen, give a window into a specialized world through terminology to explore little crisis(es) and concerns, that this will illuminate and transport a reader into another world.

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