83. My secret formula for flash fiction

I’ve been writing Friday Fictioneers, hundred-word stories, for three quarters of a year now. That adds up to 40 stories, each of which has been peer-assessed. I wondered what I could learn from analysing those assessments. Which tales garnered the greatest response and what was distinct about them?

The number of people reading varies each week, depending on season, and whether there’s a public holiday. So totalling the reads doesn’t tell you much.  The average number of reads was just under 91 per story, ranging from 123 for last week’s offering to 40 for my first one.

There is a better way of understanding which stories resonated. I calculated the proportion of likes and comments per read, and then analysing the narrative characteristics.  Eight stood out as garnering above-average likes and comments – After the Asteroid, Lovers, Parting, The Cellist, Leaving, Mud, The Fury, and The Curtain.

A spoonful of medicine helps the sugar go down

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Of these eight “winners”, four were sad – almost half of all the sad stories I’ve written. By contrast, only one of the eight was sweet – 16% of the sweet stories.  So tragedy wins.  “Sadly beautiful” was a comment on After the Asteroid, which deals with dementia and which received the highest ratio of comments and likes to views.

ff-after-the-asteroid

Relationships are essential

lovers

These “winners” also included half my stories about lovers, and a fifth of those about family. No surprise there – relationships are central to a good tale.  Of Parting, one commentator wrote, “’Some moments are so perfect they deserve to be protected from life’s corrosion.’ Oh, what a lovely line! Something to live by.”

Violence

violence

Violence was also a key feature. It occurred in three of the eight “winners” (half my stories that contain violence). The Cellist (see below) features the survivor of an atrocity. One reader said “This is wonderful, sometimes I think that music played from pain is even more beautiful.”

Art or artists

artist

Stories featuring art or artists made up only a tenth of my output, but half of them were among the “winners”. That may reflect the fact that many of the readers are other writers. One reader of the story Abstract, which was not among the “winners”, reflected this, writing “Clever analogy of what we try to do with 100-word stories.”

Story elements that lose

philosophy

Story themes that did not feature strongly or attracted below-average likes and comments included politics and philosophy, science fiction and fantasy, and travel. That surprised me, since these are major genres. Perhaps I just don’t write them that well, though I like to think I do.

Combination works

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A hundred words is not much. Yet the analysis shows the importance of complexity. Six of my stories included three or more elements. Of these, four were in the group of “winners”. The Cellist combines violence, art, sadness and transcendence. Of the 16 stories with just a single element, only one, The Fury, a horror story, featured among the “winners.”

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The secret formula

So if you want to write a successful flash story, combine sadness, violence, relationships and art. But maybe only if you’re me. Your winning formula may be different.

 

Friday Fictioneers – The Curtain

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PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Between the idea and the act falls the wish.

Between the encounter and the wish lies recognition.

He had stared through this window before.

Not outwards at the fence and the horses patient in the snow, nor inward with his nose pressed to the glass, but at the spider-lace curtains.

He was trapped in that gauzy sliver between here and there, between now and then.

Beyond those curtains lay another story he could not name.

Against the whiteness, a diffuse light mounted

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.

 

Friday Fictioneers – Speaking English

Before the story, help needed

I need your support with a flash fiction competition. My 150 word story was posted today on Ad hoc fiction (click the link to get to the story) and remains there for a week until 14 December. If I get enough votes I progress to the next stage of the competition. If you like the story please press the Vote button. The stories are anonymous, but mine is called Parting. You may have to scroll to get to it. It is number 13 of 60 stories. Vote early, vote often. Thanks so much.

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PHOTO PROMPT © Lucy Fridkin

Breakfast was oatmeal porridge, with a little milk or treacle. Then it was off along the coast to school. On the way, I glanced at Bob who shoved his face into mine. “Whit are ye glowerin’ at, John?”

“I’ll look where I please,” I replied staunchly, “and hinder me if you dare.”

I knew the rules. In school we spoke English, but around the fields it was our own honest Scots. Using English outside the school was unacceptable – it showed you had lost your temper.

The boy put up his hands. “Nae, I’ll no fecht ye. Ye’re speakin’ the English.”

 

This story comes from the boyhood of John Muir, later founder of the Sierra Club, before he emigrated in 1849, aged 11, from Dunbar to the US. His own account of his childhood can be found here.

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

Friday Fictioneers – After the Asteroid

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jan Wayne Fields

“Dad, please. The asteroid’s passed, and we’re still alive, okay?”

The tent flap remained zippered tight as clenched teeth. I guessed the etiquette was the same as doors – you waited to be invited in.

“Dad?”

His voice was clear and stronger than it had been for years. “Go away. I’m armed.”

“It’s me – Josh.  Open up.”

Silence.

You expect your parents to grow old gracefully or, at worst, to become a little forgetful. Not to blossom into survivalist delusion.

“Dad? Civilisation has collapsed. There’s only you and me. Let me in. Feed me.”

“Josh?”

 

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.

Friday Fictioneers – Lovers

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PHOTO PROMPT © CEAyr

He unbuckles the belt and slides it loose. The thing slithers through the loops like a snake, hisses like a snake.

“You’ve dishonoured us.” Even Papa’s voice is a hiss as he rears over me. “Brought shame on the family.”

The belt hurts, and I try to shield my head with my arms as the serpent bites and bites again. Probably I am screaming, I don’t know. All I’m thinking is whether he’s going to kill me.

“I have no choice,” he says, “you left me no choice.”

Papa is right – Anthony is not white.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

Friday Fictioneers – the Cellist

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PHOTO PROMPT © Björn Rudberg

The cello nestled between her legs, comfortable as an old lover. But the bow was heavy and refused her command. A strangled note shivered the air.

All gone. The whole village.

She heard their screaming in the lone note, the beat of fists against the bolted door, the choking as smoke filled the hall. When she returned, only ash and charred bone remained.

Let my music be their revenge! The strings vibrated. The sun moved. Motes of light danced a gavotte – perhaps an illusion created by her tears, but she sensed Mama and Papa. The audience drew in a breath.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.

Friday Fictioneers – The world carried on

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PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

The world carried on just as before. Only without him. Helga brought the mail to his bedside – a postcard with quaint conical rooftops of gaily coloured tiles. He didn’t need to read it to know the sender – Donald. Donald was travelling again.

Rage filled him. Without legs he would never travel anywhere again. After the rage came despair.

“Take it a day at a time.” Helga patted his hand.

A groan welled up like a retch from an empty stomach and he turned his face towards the window. A sparrow on the sill cocked its head in reply.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.

Friday Fictioneers – The Past

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PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays

The trading post was closed. Looked as if it had been since the owner walked off set. The past wasn’t for sale today, Donna thought happily, but the kids whined.

“Well, what can we do if the museum’s shut?” asked Brian, her eldest. “Maybe, go watch a gunfight?”

Donna peered through the fly-smeared windscreen, as if she might glimpse the answer. Seeing the future is easy – all you need is hope. To understand the past is much harder – that takes honesty.

“Why, we’ll get our kicks down Route 66 of course,” she said, the old song playing only for her.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.

Friday Fictioneers – Void

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Making the first mark is a terrible joy, an unforgiving test, he thinks.  Until that act, the paper is a white pre-world of every possibility. Afterwards, passages form and doors clang shut. It is the moment when the hawk hangs motionless in the sky before it stoops for the kill. And the universe holds a stilled expectancy. The brush trembles in his hand.

The sitter adjusts her position.  “Are you alright?” she asks.

He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow. What if I’ve lost it?

“Yes,” he says brusquely, and dips the brush into the vermilion.

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here. Congratulations on your fourth anniversary as Friday Fictioneers Facilitator, Rochelle, and thanks. The blank prompt this week was a challenge and a terrible joy.

Friday Fictioneers – Pieces of Eight

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PHOTO PROMPT © Claire Fuller

Fisherman’s twine, a bottle-top, seashells, a smooth pebble, a knobbly rock. The treasures in Granddad’s cabinet were as the man himself – surprising, various, and chosen with love. These were his treasure chest and his story book.

Heaving myself up onto the stool, I gazed. Though I’d seen the cabinet before, the contents changed with time, a bit like Granddad’s memories.

“What are these?” I asked, reaching for a stack of coins.

“Arrr,” he said, a protective arm drawing me down with the coins to his lap. “Arrr, Jim lad. Them I got when we took a Spanish galleon.”

 

 

Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here