I recently finished reading a collection of wonderful short stories, Winning Chances, by a writer in Alberta, Katherine Koller, and a friend asked how it was. After a moment of thought, I said, “It was a collection of wee gems, each perfect, and not trying to be a novel.”
Have you had the experience of reading a novel and thinking: “Whew, I gave up six hours of my life for that?” How do you know, when you set out to write, what the story is?
Elements of short fiction
Let’s start small. Elements of short fiction: a smaller cast of characters; a shorter time span; a singular (but rich) theme; possibly an elliptical feel; often (but not always) a more experimental approach. Note: these are general; there are always exceptions.
Characters
A large cast of characters is just too much to absorb. (True for the first chapter/s of a novel, too.) It’s akin to holding a photograph in hand. How many people can be in the frame before they become too small to see? How many can you see close up?
Time span
The time span is not always short. It might even consist of a scene in “recent” time (recent for character), a flashback, a distant-past scene, and then a return to the story’s present. But if more than one scene, not much time passes within each, and transitions move the reader quickly, even abruptly. A straightforward “The following week…” will suffice.
Theme
One theme—one—will carry a short story. Can you articulate it? You don’t need to be able to articulate before first draft is complete. Explore on first draft; first draft can be outlining or planning. But articulate as you set out on the adventure of second draft. Be able to focus on the story. There is no space for meandering in a short work. And this “one theme” resonates. The reader might be able to approach it in myriad ways… or not. (The reader, not the writer.) The resonance should deepen as the reader mulls over it; this is what a great short story accomplishes. But if you find yourself able to articulate multiple themes, there’s a good chance you have novel material on your hands.
Leave it out
What I said about transitions possibly being abrupt? Often a short story will have an elliptical feel to it. Gaps in time, in meaning. Gaps that mean your reader has to connect with the story enough to fill those spaces. What you leave out in a short piece of fiction is as important as what you choose to leave in. The reader has to do some work. And this is perhaps why some readers do not connect with this form; some would prefer to have things spelled out in plenty of detail, and work less. But this also explains why the form draws those committed to this literature; some readers love the puzzle of it.
Experimental
Short stories lend themselves to the experimental. They are bites, really, and the writer can take on a voice or approach that might be challenging to sustain in a novel. Second-person voice, or first-person plural, or even an odd chronology that compels a second read.
Elements of a novel
If your novel ends on a note of sharp and sudden understanding of your main character, do ask yourself if the whole could be contained within a short story. A novel is expansive; it can handle more than one—albeit deep—insight into an individual. A reader expects to learn multiple facets of a human within a novel, even contradictory facets. (We all have ’em.) A novel has depth and breadth.
Characters
A novel can handle a large cast. Do not introduce all at once, and be aware of names that begin with the same letter (unless intentional, of course). But as long as you bring them on-stage with care, and honor the existence of each, there is a freedom in this.
Time span
A novel can cover generations and decades, and move back and forth. This too can be an indicator of whether your idea and material is short or long. There are novels that take place over hours or short days, but if so, question why… can it be a short piece?
Theme
A novel can carry multiple themes, or variations on a theme. Each sub-plot can have its own theme, that can feed into the central theme. Again, sub-plots add to the sense of “journey” that is the novel: its pages can be side roads to travel, and return to the main road for the trip.
Put it in
An elliptical feel in a novel may be purposeful. Or it might just be annoying. What would be the purpose to leaving out? Chances are that in a novel you are putting in more than you are leaving out. True, it is generally “leaving out” that engages a reader —always, to some degree. But not in the same way that this choice operates within a short story. (Can you envision the “unwritten” in your stories? If it’s a novel, why are you leaving it out? And if it’s a short story, why are you putting it in?)
“Rich story”
It is not in the scope of this post to begin to explore this, but—generally—especially if new to longer forms, simply maintaining length in an experimental work is unsustainable. Both for writer and reader. The experimental quality might be augmenting the content. But to be experimental for its own sake is not easy for the long haul of a novel. With short fiction, there is more room to play… and then move on to the next piece. But more often than not, with novels, readers want most “a good read,” meaning, “rich story.” Strong, compelling characters doing memorable things.
A final thought on the difference in the act of writing these two forms
Often the sheer work involved in writing a novel is a deterrent for writers who have not yet written longer fiction.
But a novel can be a mental and emotional space you return to day after day, month after month. And for those with busy lives, it can be strangely easier to tap in to this, without the mental preparation of the new storyline, new issue or conflict, new cast of characters, new voice, that is necessary for writing the short story.
Writing short fiction means consistently coming up with differentiated and fresh ideas—which can be exhausting for some writers and enlivening for others. Remember at the outset of this article when I described each story in the collection as a “gem”? It takes a different sort of time to come up with distinct pieces, as opposed to the type of time it takes to return to the same place and continue. So the nature of how you work as a writer should also be a determining factor in your decision of what to write.
What’s left out here
The form of novella. This form is so often forgotten, and is deserving of its own post. It sits solidly between the two. Consider Don DeLillo’s most recent, The Silence, a slim 116 pages, five characters, a conversation, really. Too much for a short story, too little for a fleshed novel. There is a length a story needs to be; listen for what that is.
And I’ve mentioned above, but worth repeating: to each point, we could have some fun sharing Exceptions! Exceptions make life interesting, and “successful” writing (as in, works people enjoy working on and reading) includes many examples. Know that, yes, I am aware of this. Always, as I share ideas of “how.” But do go for it: point them out!
Loved this piece. Thank you for sharing! It’s refreshing and enlightening regarding the different directions we can take.
In my own journey, I have been writing a book of fables for the past six months. Somewhere along the way, I had an idea for how to (loosely) thread the stories together. I’m liking the idea of it being more of a novella, an overarching story with short stories within it.
All that said, the thing that really stuck out for me from this post is the “burden” of reading short stories and nee characters each time. I do feel this, especially in this day and age of lowered attention and energy span. At the same time, I’ve also learned that it’s something I enjoy as a writer. I like to explore different roles, skills etc… and short stories let me do that with worlds.
Thanks again for sharing your wisdom!
Hi Alison, thanks for this stimulating piece! I'm curious to understand more about what's left in vs what's let out, for both the short story and the novel. How do you decide what details are crucial that the short story/novel can't exist, and what details are superfluous the reader will fill in the gaps? I've often considered short-stories as some forms of condensed novels. Is this view too flawed?