There’s a rhinoceros in the woods. I know—I saw it grazing quietly, supremely indifferent to the fact we don’t have rhinos here. Either my sighting’s mistaken, or we’re wrong about the rhino’s range. This dilemma must be where that awful phrase “my truth” comes from.
Truth is truth. But then we must consider the chain of deduction too. Perhaps a zoo escape? That would solve my existential crisis.
Phoning the zoo would verify the possibility. But if the escape didn’t happen, my crisis returns. Maybe better not to find out.
I’ll make a nice cup of tea and ponder
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Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here
He was in the presence of a miracle. Not the burning bush kind. No angels swooped down with fiery swords. But a miracle nonetheless. The air coruscated, and nothing was quite like it had been a moment before.
A voice which issued from no mortal mouth sounded the bell of his skull. “Go forth and slay my enemies.”
That was disconcerting.
Though feeling a little foolish, he answered, “I’m really not sure that would be the right thing to do.”
“So be it,” the voice replied. “Many are called, few are chosen.”
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Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here
The sun rises through a sulphurous sky on a desolation of gantries and cranes. This is no spaceport, no futuristic capital—everything is grandiosely functional. And yet, tough men built great things here, proud of their skill, and easy in their laughter. But no more ships will slide down these slipways.
How did it come to an end, all this? A world has vanished, not just of things, but of communities. What will we do now, us welders and fitters and engineers? Who will value us? We are passing into history.
I do not care to go gently.
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Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here
The air held an odd scent, something metallic. Underfoot, the floor bounced springy as moss. There was music—like the plucking of a lute, but deeper and full of strange yearning. Nothing was as it should be. I drew my sword.
A knave materialised, wearing an outlandish motley jerkin and breeches. This demon spoke, but the sounds made no sense. Before he could ensnare me, I cleaved him in twain, head to toe.
The last thing I heard was a sigh and, “Next time, let’s try not to bring-through a warrior.”
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Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here
How odd change is, all my remaining days in this dark world and wide. Once, I knew a rainbow realm of all the hues. Once, it was all laughing and running and sweetness in the green, green grass. Truly, I do not mind my blindness—I own a fat album of memories to glory in. And I have sound.
But odd it is on a Sunday afternoon to hear the thud of gleeful hammering and sawing. Labour has become rest. And the true labour of my neighbours, when they are really at work, is silent and digital.
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Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here
Well, I didn’t reach the longlist with my novel The People of the Bull in any of the competitions I entered. I am, of course, surprised. But on reflection perhaps I shouldn’t be. I can console myself with the thought that perhaps the judges just didn’t understand the story, written in a simulation of the ancient language of the setting. Was it too literary? Not literary enough? Then again, perhaps it just wasn’t good enough.
How does a writer deal with rejection? Rejection or acceptance are nebulous categories—what one person enjoys, another may dislike. You can tell yourself you were just unlucky. But, better still, acceptance can be quantified.
If you divide the number of entries to a competition by the number of places in its shortlist, you get a measure of the probability of gaining a place in that shortlist.
Competition
Number of entries
Longlist Odds
Shortlist odds
Win odds
Bridport
3,038
0.66%
0.16%
0.16%
Bath
2,452
0.86%
0.16%
0.03%
Cheshire
1,984
0.76%
0.45%
0.10%
Blue Pencil
1.461
1.37%
0.34%
0.20%
Exeter
1,379
1.81%
0.44%
0.15%
Yeovil
1,048
2.96%
0.95%
0.29%
The number of entries was estimated from published data for past competitions, with an assumed increase year-on-year. The more entries there are, all things being equal, the lower your chance of placing. However, all things are not equal.
I can also quantify roughly how good I am as a writer. That’s one of the benefits of publishing short stories. You can find the acceptance rates of different publications through services like Duotrope (https://duotrope.com). The most demanding publication I was ever accepted by was Structo, with an acceptance rate of 3.85%. So that doesn’t quite qualify me to get into the longlist of any of these competitions until I improve the rating.
On the other hand, one of the competitions (Cheshire) does provide an individual critique, though not until later in the year. In the meantime, they did provide an interesting list of what they were looking for.
The Cheshire Novel Prize criteria
“I often get asked why certain novels made the longlist. Here are a few pointers as to why some novels sailed through and some did not: 1. An immediate strong and compelling voice; we need to know who is telling the story. 2. A strong sense of time, place and setting in the opening chapters plus seasons always help too to add atmosphere. 3. Good worldbuilding particularly for fantasy, dystopia and science fiction. 4. A little bit of status quo so we can see the character as they are now before the inciting incident happens to ignite the engine of the story and change your character’s world as they know it. 5. Conflict. 6. Stakes. 7. Ideally the inciting incident happens in the first 1000 -2000 words. 8. A quest – the journey your characters go on after the inciting incident changes their status quo. 9. Propulsive story – whether that be character driven or plot driven depending on genre. We need something to keep us wanting to turn the pages. 10. Profluence – cause and effect of events that happen. For example instead of having a list of things that happen (this happens and then this happens) we like to see, this happens and then BECAUSE of this, this happens and then BECAUSE of this, this happens etc. This was originated by John Gardner in his book, ‘The Art of Fiction.’ 11. Good description that adds depth and texture and moves the story on. 12. Dialogue that moves the story on and feels authentic 13. Questions raised for the reader to keep us reading on! 14. Some questions answered in the first 5000 words and more raised! 15. Does the synopsis start where the story starts? 16. Does the synopsis have a clear plot that is outlined with spoilers and the ending explained? 17. Good character arcs shown in the synopsis? 18. Can you show us in the synopsis how the character has changed?
The interesting thing about this list is points 4, 7 and 8. All the others are generic issues, but these three are tied much more explicitly to what appears to be the Hero’s Quest model of story structure. An inciting incident is the event or thing that forces the protagonist to leave the status quo and which drives the rest of the story forward (for example, engaging in a quest).
It is entirely true there is no traditional inciting incident in my novel, certainly not one that occurs in the first 2,000 words. The story is driven forward by two things that become intertwined: the material forces that are slowly changing the society and the way these become expressed by two battling siblings, one espousing change and the other revering continuity. Though there is a first chapter that leaps forward in the storyline, showing the consequence of the rivalry between the sisters, the unveiling of the material forces is on a slow burn. It might be argued that the introduction of the grandmother’s mummified corpse is the inciting incident. In fact, the grandmother is merely a motif for the struggle between the sisters.
I would argue that an inciting incident is not necessary for a story. I’ll be posting more about this later.
My children, listen well. Walking in the hills, I heard a wondrous sound proceeding from a cloud. There I saw a black servant playing a viola, and his recital was superior to all the King’s musicians. I tell you, that was the Devil himself.
The creation is perfect, harmonious, divine. When we sing in praise of God, we recreate the harmony of the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth—life as before the Fall. But Satan inserts himself into the gap between one note and the next. Beware the tritone—it is the Devil’s music.
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Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here
The Great Detective sported an infuriatingly smug expression. With a twirl of his mustachio he asked, ”What do you notice, Hastings?”
I hated him and everything about him—the affected accent, the smugness, the smell of his pomade.
“A car abandoned in the woods.”
“Mais non, mon cher Hastings. Use the little grey cells. Observe. Deduce.”
Tosser! Absolute tosser! I shrugged.
The GD enlightened me. “The engine. It is gone. But, surprisingly, not the wheels.”
Aha. The maestro had made a slip. “Actually, I think not, mon cher. The engine was in the back in this model.”
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Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here
You’d think perhaps this is all the residue of a merry night—the empty bottles, the pyroclastic flow of wax. But no, it wasn’t an extended revelry. This was the work of seconds.
When he walked into the inn, the air carried a whiff of cordite, or maybe brimstone. Never having smelled brimstone, I can’t be sure.
“Wine,” he said. “Your best, if you please.”
When vision returned after the flash, he’d gone, along with all my customers. The imprint of his fingers remained, melted into the wineglass.
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Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here
Beloved is a masterwork. It takes its inspiration from a true story of an escaped slave who killed her baby rather than let it be taken back from the north of the US to the slave south, It is a novel about slavery, yes. But more, it’s about humanity and the enduring wounds injustice inflicts. Baby Suggs, for example, reflects on the danger of loving:
“The last of [Baby Suggs’] children, whom she barely glanced at when he was born because it wasn’t worth the trouble to try to learn features you would never see change into adulthood anyway. Seven times she had done that: held a little foot; examined the fat fingertips with her own—fingers she never saw become the male or female hands a mother would recognize anywhere. She didn’t know to this day what their permanent teeth looked like; or how they held their heads when they walked.”
And also it’s about memory. The past is not done and buried in Sethe’s world. It lives on, most particularly in the form of Beloved, who she believes is the baby she killed, and who first returns as the poltergeist that haunts her home, then as the creature that sucks her dry.
These are strong, deeply human characters. Not just Black characters but people who show us what it means to be a person. There is, of course, the many-headed hydra of racism and the lies racists tell themselves to justify their oppression:
“Whitepeople believed that whatever the manners, under every dark skin was a jungle. Swift unnavigable waters, swinging screaming baboons, sleeping snakes, red gums ready for their sweet white blood. In a way, he thought, they were right…. But it wasn’t the jungle blacks brought with them to this place from the other (livable) place. It was the jungle whitefolks planted in them.”
But there is also the ambiguity that is at the heart of all of us:
“Sethe learned the profound satisfaction Beloved got from storytelling. It amazed Sethe… because every mention of her past life hurt…. But, as she began telling about the earrings, she found herself wanting to, liking it”
Is there redemption in Sethe’s easing of her isolated pain? Or is it capture?
How does Morrison achieve these effects?
She does this in a variety of ways.
The existence of the past in the present is not just something Sethe asserts. It’s built into the structure of the novel with flashbacks and point of view changes that constantly braid past and present. The past, of course, is not a comforting time of fond memory, but one of humiliation and pain. Paul D’s tobacco tin of repressed memories exemplifies this:
“It was some time before he could put Alfred, Georgia, Sixo, schoolteacher, Halle, his brothers, Sethe, Mister, the taste of iron, the sight of butter, the smell of hickory, notebook paper, one by one, into the tobacco tin lodged in his chest. By the time he got to 124 nothing in this world could pry it open.”
Like Sethe, there is much about the past that is dangerous to him, Paul D’s tobacco tin is one of a number of recurring symbols. Another symbol is the whipping scar on Sethe’s back, which is described as being like a chokecherry tree. Does it symbolise the fraudulent beauty of “Sweet Home”, the place of Sethe and Paul D’s enslavement? Does it symbolise the ability of beauty to grow, even in horror? Or does it, perhaps, convey both meanings?
Biblical images and references are scattered through the story. The horsemen who come to take Sethe back to slavery are four in number. Baby Suggs’ sin of pride (if such it is) that restrains the community from warning Sethe of the coming of the four horsemen, is a huge feast that evokes the miracle of the loaves and the fishes.
And finally there is the symbol provided by Beloved herself. Dead baby, poltergeist, cunning and vengeful reincarnation. Sethe and her daughter Denver are seduced by Beloved, wanting her for themselves. Paul D is driven away by the apparition. What is she? Perhaps the burden of guilt, perhaps the desire for connection, perhaps … well you decide.
Neil MacDonald Author 