When to slow down...

Pacing your flash fiction

Photo by Roman Kraft on Unsplash

“Slow down where it hurts.” ~Steve Almond

Hi friends! Thanks to all who took part in Saturday’s workshop! I thought, since the focus of the workshop was how to create forward momentum and velocity in our flash, it would be interesting to now look at those places where, even in flash, it’s a good idea to slow down. This is a return to a 2023 newsletter many of you will not have seen. Enjoy!

As we find ourselves in the midst of late fall, when life moves at a slower pace, or feels like it does, evening comes sooner, we stay in, settle in, hunker down. Fall has always been my best season for writing. It’s a time to rest and reflect and go deeper.

Steve Almond advises us to “slow down where it hurts.” He means this for writing, but I think this is good life advice as well. There’s so much pain in our world right now. It’s tempting to scurry about, distract ourselves, gorge on horrifying news we can’t look away from. But what if we make space for peace within ourselves? The idealist in me wants to believe it would make for a more peaceful world in general.

But we are here to talk about writing. Is there room to slow down in flash fiction? Must it always advance at just one speed—fast—in order to be “flashy?”

Typically, slowing down takes up valuable real estate on the page. So the challenge for flash writers is how to “slow down where it hurts” with economy.

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Here are a few excellent examples where the flash writer slowed the pace at the most painful/heartbreaking/deeply emotional moment:

“Otters at the Zoo,” by Christopher Allen, in Xray Lit

This story quickly establishes its premise and wastes no time jumping into the action of the story, where a man accompanies his imaginary son, a third grader, to the zoo to study otters. The pacing here is brisk, and trouble ensues, then is resolved. It’s after this where Allen slows things down. We get a longer paragraph now. There’s stillness here, between this father and his imaginary son. Tenderness. Without overplaying it, we feel this father’s relief and indeed, his love:

“He settles when he sees me, knows I’m not the kind of dad who’d haul off or why I oughta. He knows I’m just grateful for every moment he decides to stay. Did you know, he says, that otter mothers leave their babies floating on the water when they look for food? He takes a churro from the bag, and it may be the cinnamon and sugar dusting the air between us, but I feel a breeze of something real, something unfamiliar like, I don’t know, but that’s just it, isn’t it? I don’t know.”

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“Hippo Brain,” by Barlow Adams, published in Bull

Adams makes the rare move to open this flash story slowly. It’s actually a genius move in this case. I’ve seen this sort of opening in longer stories, but almost never in flash. It’s strikingly written and reflective, and it sets the tone for the whole story:

“You can’t outrun being born poor anymore than a rabbit can outrun being born a rabbit. Get as far away as you like, you’ll still spend the rest of your days listening for the wolf at the door, watching for threatening shadows on the ground. Being poor is being hunted. Forever.”

There are two more short paragraphs in the same vein, until the story’s movement and action begin:

“I watched a documentary with my eight-year-old son about hippos.”

Some editors might say that should be the first sentence, but those editors would be wrong.

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“Levittown,” by Richard Mirabella, in Split Lip

This breathless paragraph story hurts all through, but I love what the writer does at the end, slowing the pace with heartbreaking imagery and reflection:

“All Levittown gave me—a boiling little stone of hate that is mine, for myself—is still there, even though I had covered it with clothes and books and boyfriends and sex and accomplishments. They grew around the hate and muffled it. Out the window, I saw a cardinal land on the neighbor’s roof and thought it looked in at us, at me. It leapt from the roof and coasted out of sight, as if someone had thrown my heart. I grabbed my friend and we danced. Come on, she said and smiled. Try! Try! I laughed because the song was old and funny, and we were kids dancing in a room that wasn’t ours, until someone came up and found us, and we stopped, too embarrassed to keep going.”

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Here are some tips for economically slowing the pace of your flash fiction:

1. Slowing down at the end. Stop time. Linger on a telling image/metaphor.

2. Pausing for some interiority / reflection.

3. Including a flashback in half-scene, one that informs the emotional underpinnings of the story.

4. Writing a block of longer sentences (short, choppy sentences propel the story, convey action).

5. Carefully chosen description. How can we describe a place to convey a character’s emotions? Description needn’t be “wasted words” in flash fiction.

6. Shifting away from the story itself for a moment. Think of where the mind goes in moments of pain. What does the character focus on or notice?

7. Begin with slowness if it suits the story. Enter the story world gently. Set the tone (as Barlow Adams did in his story “Hippo Brain” above).

YOUR PROMPT

Practice slowing down where it hurts in the space of a flash fiction. This might be most easily accomplished in a one scene flash. Maybe pre-write/mind map/scribble your way into a theme of sadness or loss.

Incorporate the following:

Two characters.

Action and dialogue that moves fairly briskly.

The words: brittle, October, (any song), strawberry wine, and cross-country.

One brief, but potent flashback.

A long, final paragraph that lingers on a moment or image.

Give yourself time to work on this one. Bear in mind that at some point in the story, when the emotion is strongest and most painful, you will need to slow the narrative.

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BEFORE YOU GO…

I will be announcing a new round of 3-in-90 workshops some time in early January. I’ve got some fun / interesting things in store for you!

Also…

High Altitude Inspiration: Flash Fiction Rendezvous in the Autumn Rocky Mountains

There are few more beautiful places on earth than the Colorado Rocky Mountains in the fall. Nancy Stohlman and I are returning to Shadowcliff Lodge in September, 2026! Several spaces have already been reserved for what is always a magical, inspiring, and productive retreat. Find more information HERE. We’d love for you to join us!

Look for my all-subscriber post on Wednesday, where I will provide 15 prompts to take us to the end of this tired, old year.

With love & gratitude,

Kathy