Joyce Carol Oates says, “Fairy tales are miniature narratives that typically begin Once upon a time and swiftly, sometimes bluntly summarize entire lives within a few paragraphs.”
Oates also says, “The miniature narrative is often most effective when boundaries between ‘real’ and ‘surreal’ are dissolved.
I’ve never been very good at writing short stories. I think this is mainly because so much needs to be covered in such a short span in a short story that my mind cramps trying to think how I might fit it all into just a few short pages.
It might seem silly but I get nervous thinking about them and tangled up writing them.
But, before now, I’d never thought of fairy tales as miniature narratives.
Being the mother of a three-year-old girl, I’ve certainly read (and memorized) my fair share of fairy tales. I’ve even composed a few impromptu fairy tales typically at the bedtime request of my very own Princess Lyla (my daughter’s name and her preferred character title). All of which have been met with smiles and gleeful giggles. Of course, she’s not exactly the toughest critic and as long as she lives happily ever after in them, well, then she’s happy (and I am, too).
But using Oates’ thought process, maybe it is simply about dissolving that line between real and surreal. If dissolving the boundaries between real and surreal is what makes fairy tales more effective, then wouldn’t that be true of other types of writing, as well? In a fairy tale, those boundaries dissolve immediately, of course, as we open our minds in a carefree fashion to the magic behind fairies, frogs and princesses. But couldn’t we, as writers, achieve that same effect by working to dissolve that line between real and make believe in non-fairytales, as well?
Isn’t writing fiction about creating something that someone will be willing to believe in whether or not the subject in and of itself is naturally believable? Isn’t our job as writers to make our stories believable? Or perhaps it’s simply (or not-so-simply) to inspire our readers to believe.
I believe it’s the pressure we put on ourselves that makes one thing seem more or less challenging to accomplish. What is a challenge to one is a piece of cake to another. For example, I’ve never been able to do a cartwheel. Ironically, my brother can. If you asked him, he’d claim he could never write a novel. I think he could if he put his mind to it. He’d say the same about me and that cartwheel. Clearly, we both have our fears.
These pages have inspired me to make a real attempt at a “real” fairy tale. Not just an off-the-cuff version of someone else’s tale with my daughter’s name and favorite past times slotted in but something tangible, written down and that other children might enjoy, as well. Maybe that will be the push that will help me conquer my silly little fear of short stories, too.
I’m still not ready for the cartwheel.
Funny, I face the same dilemma about short story writing. But for me it’s more because I don’t think short, so I don’t write short. I don’t even talk short. I’m chatty. I try not to be. Twitter is difficult for me. When I start with a story lattice, I start adding so many layers, they surpass short story status in no time. I’d like to one day be able to create them ONE day.
Twitter is difficult for me, too!!
My short stories tend to become novelettes… which is probably why most of my stories are sitting on my hard drive instead of appearing in print somewhere.
I know exactly how you feel! Sometimes the words just need to marinate. Maybe they’re simply marinating and getting ready to expand to the next level? You could have a novel in the making on your hands (or on your hard drive)!
That’s great. The other two are getting lonely!
Seriously, this is an interesting topic, and I agree that it’s hard to tell when a short piece is just right.
Don’t let them get lonely! You can never have too many. I’m working on my third now (while constantly overhauling the other two), and I hope to someday get them published so I can obsess over something else… though like children who’ve gone away to college, I’ll probably never stop worrying about them!