. Spinning .

Had already read this short story by Don Shea as I started from the beginning of Flash Fiction Forward almost as soon as it was pulled from the Amazon box.

Basics: written in first person POV, opens with setting and character, introducing the protagonist, Henry, as an EMT in the narrator’s workplace world who is exceptional at talking people out of jumping off roofs, bridges, what have you.  The story then goes on to explain the terms ‘jumper up’ and ‘jumper down’ to satisfy our curiosity. 

The setup continues with the background of where and who, introducing no real conflict regardless of the topic, and leads into Henry’s retirement party, his last day on the job.  There is further backstory of an episode that serves only to establish a camaraderie and understanding of the nature of the job as well as the insertion of a little light humor. Here is where conflict arises: a call comes in, interrupting the party, of a jumper up. 

While the story arc rises to meet the tension of the situation as they race to the scene, it is immediately diffused with the jumper taking his dive before Henry can get to him. 

Not necessarily the climax though, as the narrator and Henry go over to the fallen man and realize that there is just a shred of light left that’s flickering.  Henry then does the unexpected, he shouts in the man’s ear, "I know you can hear me, ’cause hearing’s the last thing to go.  I just gotta tell ya, I wanted you to know, that jump was fucking magnificent!" 

Frankly, I would’ve ended the story there and let the reader figure out what the narrator explains in the last two full paragraphs. 

By Andrew McCuaig, third person pov, linear progression of story arc, tension builds with setting up of the storyworld–though admittedly this is what threw me off.

McCuaig sets up a situation of Elaine (protagonist) coming to work and finding Troy’s wallet.  The storyworld is a "cramped booth" and the conflict is his intentional leaving of the wallet in order to "deliberately rub(bed) his body up against hers" in the small area.

I figured her for a waitress at an all-night diner based on what I’d read so far, but this confused the image.  It is not until the third paragraph (out of a total of nine) that I realized this was a tollbooth she was working in. And that is about the only thing I wasn’t crazy about in this story.  A reader must have a clear picture of the story environment, even in flash fiction, because he starts to form an image as he reads and it is very disconcerting to discover it to be all wrong and have to smash it down like it was made of Lego blocks and rebuild the storyworld and set your characters back into this new place.  But then, maybe I wasn’t reading closely as I should have been. Or maybe I was just slow in catching on.

The introduction of the other characters, Troy as lecherous and Jose as the same but less aggressive, is foreshadowing for the climax which is the decision Elaine makes in giving the driver the cash from Troy’s wallet.  All ends are tied up nicely when Jose adds to the tension of the moment by gesturing to her in concern as that adds to the reader’s concern. 

The setting up of the storyworld, a lonely tollbooth on an empty highway (the counting of cars out of boredom is an additional detail of the setting), makes the sudden appearance of the major conflict hold more impact, even in its simplicity of statement:  Elaine said, "Good Morning," and the woman said, "I need money."  Perfect.

There is the imagery of the woman, blankstared and blood on her lip.  But the children in the back seat make up the dramatic effect: Their eyes were wide and afraid.  We realize by now that McCuaig has touched on several issues surrounding spousal abuse and sexual harassment.  So the fact that Elaine gives the woman Troy’s money is vital to the theme. 

The final sentence too is powerful and perhaps a metaphor: The older girl’s face, framed by the back window, receded into the darkness, her eyes like glowing stones.

Excellent read.

By David Galef; another first person POV, and exposition immediate to start the story arc.  The narrator is planning his date with yes, a Neanderthal. First conflict: what to bring, flowers or beef?  The concept here is terrific–we simply have to accept the facts as the narrator tells us the story.

We’re placed right into the action by the second paragraph after the intial setup in the first, and the second conflict arises: she doesn’t immediately answer the door.  Here, while the narrator/protagonist busily attempts to overcome this problem by kicking and calling, Galef sneaks in some background: the TransWorld Dating Agency, thus answering the big question raised of What the f…? that magical realism brings with it.

What the protagonist evidently wants is a date without meaningless small talk and other aggravating tendencies that he assigns to the contemporary female.  And this is how far he’ll go to achieve that.

Interesting though that even he notes "Anyway, there’s a limit to what I can achieve by gestures."  Though I take this as tongue-in-cheek.

There is a definite story arc in this strictly linier narrative, the backstory being just used as explanation and not really episodic enough to break the timeline. Verisimiltude is in place as the differences in culture are noted yet overcome.

Lotta humor here, i.e., "She smiled, the gaps in her teeth drawing me in.  Her earthy aroma was a definite aphrodisiac." What’s interesting however is what allowances he will make for this, and how his perspective is voiced.  I get the image of stink versus chatter, both of which introduce and call up the senses to the reader.

The ending is a bit anticlimatic (and even hokey), though in truth, I wondered where the actual climax took place.  Perhaps in this:  "What a woman!" Even so, the resolution is not clear and raises new questions to hold the tension throughout: "I like rock music and she likes the music of rocks" and "(…)but I can’t e-mail her."

In any event, I wish them well. 

This story by Amy Hample was a bit confusing at first and had to be read a couple times to appreciate the beginning once understanding what was going on (which doubles the word count and sort of defeats the purpose of flash fiction). 

The basics: First person POV. Exposition of conflict metaphored in artist’s presentation. Conflict foreshadowed by questioning of details, interrupted with reality of visit to a doctor in setting time and place.

Very poignant piece.  The motif of white crockery in the artist’s show, on the x-rays, as the narrator ties them together to put a concrete image onto a unassailable diagnosis.  The theme of all that’s visible in a picture (and in reality) that fails to hide and indeed may magnify the one little thing that stands out–thus the question of "What is the white thing?" The one thing wrong with the perfect picture.

There is also a relationship to the narrator that evokes sympathy not only for her (assumption here) plight, but for the common and natural inclination to both seek truth and yet deny it, and find ways to accept and fit something into our world that we don’t necessarily want.  Making the abstract (diagnosis/white spot) concrete (white crockery).

The storyworld is set mainly in the church where the narrator has stopped in to see the artist’s lecture.  Drawn in by the sign "Finding the Mystery in Clarity" which she notes appears to be contradictory to human nature and yet it is the answer and meaning behind the black/white images that she seeks.  In stopping in to view this lecture, she is avoiding an appointment with the doctor who will likely give her the clarity of her condition.

She does end up going to the doctor’s and insists, regardless of the explanation, to not see the white things for what they are–evidence of cancer.  Just as she has forgotten what pieces of her childhood represented by her mother’s things as she gave them away she actually wanted–knowing only that they were white.  The artist at the showing will not answer the question put to him by an audience member either.

Very nicely done and very powerful in its relevance to inner turmoil and our ability to compensate.  There is  the balance between what is expected and what is known.  The metaphor of the white crockery becomes just that, a metaphor for something that is meaningful and distinct from the material item–i.e., she cannot remember what she wanted from her mother’s things. Story arc builds nicely with the slow infusion of the reality of the narrator’s condition.  Even the flashback of her mother’s own giving away of things reinforces both the concrete image of black/white thing and the fragility of life facing death.  Well done.

Just read McCruig’s The Wallet and loved it, though there were some problems with the exposition I think. More later.

This post mainly to try out the new Marsedit prorgram. Wowee-kazowee on the Text Markup. But I should find the category file. Oh man, I just did and it is the neatest, easiest. I’m sold so far.

Some day I’ll even get up off the couch and away from the computer before noon.

More professional assessment later, but just a delightful read as far as concept and this I loved:

But along the path the moon was out, illuminating Glena’s short but powerful body in a way that was weirdly beautiful.