The Transition To Short Story Submission

Illustration of short story Unspoken.

Short stories have never been my favorite storytelling form. Many are sharp and to the point; gone before you really get to know them. In recent years short stories for some writers have become synonymous with an opportunity to market a novel or series, resulting in weird, incomplete chunks of text that leave a sour aftertaste.

But having decided to accept the challenge of producing and submitting three short stories, I figured I should travel back in time and take a closer look at the ones that embedded themselves in my mind while growing up.

The first was The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield. I ADORE it. In terms of my usual tastes, this is surprisingly left of field. The appeal is partly in the way she writes: the pace and the atmosphere. I love how the girl in the story, who is rich in an old-fashioned country house way, learns of a nearby laborer's death while her family are organizing a garden party. (Talk about juxtaposition.)

She is disturbed on an almost subconscious level. When she tries to vocalize her reaction, the family’s instinctive response is to dismiss her with a lot of tally-ho old school flippancy.

In hindsight, the indelible impression is primarily because the narrative focuses on the moment where you begin to transition into an individual—developing a social conscience, becoming aware of social practices. The story amplifies how disconcerting that sense of displacement can be; death, as a reminder of mortality, makes the experience more jarring.

The second story that stuck was Ray Bradbury’s The Pedestrian. In extreme summary, this futuristic tale follows a guy who likes to walk at night while everyone else is watching tv. Eventually he's arrested, not because he did anything wrong, but because the act of thinking differently becomes wrong in the eyes of society.

Clearly there are parallels between the two tales. Both are about individualism, and going against the traditional flow of society—even just in thought.

Turns out my subconscious stuck with relatively similar themes in my three short story submissions:

-The Event is set in a future society where bad memories can be removed and stored externally. A memory is bad if the “colors" i.e. the information stream that flows along the walls and floors, changes intensely in response to a person's bio-readings. 

Survivors of The Event wear memory keys on neck chains. The storyline follows a girl who explores the idea of visiting the vault and unlocking her memories; some part of her psyche yearns to know the impact of the extreme experience. Only the knowledge the memories cannot be removed a second time holds her back.

-The next story is an adaptation of an old short film script, Unspoken. Set in a world where each word is specifically defined, a "plague" is killing citizens; or more accurately, they’re killing themselves after experiencing an undefined emotion.

Attempts to create a new term fail, and the current wordsmith council visit a retired master of the craft for help. He tries to save the city, but only when he feels the emotion, in the depths of despair before death, does he understand.

(What I liked about the short film format was the entire film took place in the wordsmith's room, high in a tower. You saw him looking out at the city, but instead of seeing the outside world, definitions of his dialogue flashed onscreen.)

-The third story, Lily, is a prequel to my speculative fiction novel Sound. (As previously mentioned, I consider this to be a risky avenue to take, especially if it falls flat. Fingers crossed!)

In a future experimental city, people with a particular gene can turn sounds into a form of energy. I wanted to introduce the reader to Lily before feeding on music drove her insane, and also reveal secrets in the backstory of iconic musicians Jesse and Michael. It’s a bittersweet tale; the signs are there for the dark path the novel eventually treads.

Whether or not any of the stories are accepted is kind of irrelevant. Having fewer words to play with, capturing complex themes in a tighter word count: the whole experience was a fascinating challenge.

My Young Adult novel Otherplace

Otherplace is my first Young Adult novel, making me appreciate the "requirements" of the genre. (To clarify, there are no real rules, merely patterns and trends that have emerged over time.) Writing for a younger audience calls for a slight shift in vocabulary, pace, and tone.

So how was writing this book different to writing Sound? 

I find people are more accepting of impetuousness in a Young Adult novel. A life choice made by a 16-year-old character is perceived differently to a life choice made a 36-year-old character. Descriptiveness is also kept to a minimum, as if the words in a YA book have been whittled to a sharp point.

What I think of as "realization" is another key factor. The lead characters often realize their place in the world (or how to go about finding it), their emotional strength, ways to handle relationships/personal connections, and the ability to say no (or yes). Sometimes they discover a sense of purpose, and begin to work out a way to forge their own path.

Otherplace includes adventures that would have appealed to me at 15 or 16. The story is also a traditional linear narrative (no unreliable narrator this time), and a coming of age tale with consecutive internal/external journeys.

My favorite books were always really imaginative fare, probably why Otherplace leans toward slipstream more than anything else, melding elements of the fantastical with the futuristic. What can I say? My imagination isn’t big on following rules.

Here is the promotional text, and the novel is currently available on Amazon Kindle as an ebook (highly affordable, hint, hint). To purchase click here

The One says all Placeless must Fade.

Citizens of Otherplace who don’t know where they belong have three choices: hide, run, or Fade from existence.

With Place Police sweeping the Dome, Hellen and her brother Hop are forced to take refuge at Desperachen Manor. Over time they realize one thing is worse than being Placeless: being prey.

From the seemingly magical life of a Module at the Castle to the rebel caves on the border, it turns out Placeless have secret allies and mortal enemies everywhere.

What is the purpose of Symon’s talisman? Why does Prince Charming have so many faces? How did Death become trapped inside a person? And is there any truth to the seer’s prediction?

Will Hellen really save them all?