A Short Essay on Short Stories
Commonplace Newsletter #82
To change things you have to first accept them as they are. You have to see the territory for what it is, with clear eyes. You have to quell the impotent wishing that says if only things were different- if only circumstances had not led to things being how they are now- if only. But things are how they are.
A case in point. People don’t read books any more, and they certainly don’t read fiction. I am talking in the aggregate. Yes, you yourself may be a voracious reader and you may have friends who are the same but I would say that you are exceptional cases. I would say that this is the literary equivalent of the Pareto Principle in action whereby 20% of the readers read 80% of the books. Or perhaps that should be 5% of the readers read 95% of the books? I can only speculate. But what I do know is that you have a self selected elite of readers who flick through volume after volume in rapt concentration while the far larger block of people read a single summertime paperback at most and lament that they lack the time for such leisurely pursuits.
But you don’t need a time and motion study to see that this is palpable nonsense. The amount of people who claim to never have time to read but whose daily Screen Time on their iPhone clocks in at 4 hours plus per day is depressing in its near ubiquity. In fact I would wager that the average citizen reads as many words per day as they ever have, probably more so, the problem is that rather than being in the form of continuous bookbound narratives, these words are merely a succession of hundreds and hundreds of disconnected tweets and listicles and headlines all raining down in a never-ending scroll. Though it bares repeating, this is not news. There has been endless hand-wringing and thinkpieces devoted to this topic for well over a decade now, in fact ever since Steve Jobs ruined the internet by deciding to incorporate a web browser into the first generation iPhone. Lord knows I have produced my share of such works as part of my ongoing project of writing essays which in a state of head-scratching bemusement try to make sense of the absurd, the distressing and the often hilarious historical moments I find myself in both on and offline.
But anyway. The point is that I’m a writer in a time where the urbane sophisticates who should be my audience have seemingly abandoned art and literature and intellectual conversation to instead thumb through bite-sized political screeds and unsubstantiated morsels of gossip and tired memes in their free time. But like I said- you have to accept such situations as they are. I have seen some of the best minds of my generation destroyed by this madness, by this endless looking for an angry fix of dopamine1. But in talking and collaborating and conspiring with some of the (last?) writers and readers who have not prostrated themselves to the algorithmic hive-mind I think I may have found a potential path towards a way out. And that is via- of all things- the humble short story.
If all of these ideas of dwindling attention spans, screen based dopamine addiction and so forth are true2 then the answer is to build back slowly. The ability to concentrate on a narrative, to utilise your imaginative capabilities and visualise the scenes the writer is laying out become deconditioned much like how muscles atrophy as a result of prolonged sedentary lifestyles.
If only there were the written equivalent of a gentle stroll, a light dumbbell, a few warmup stretches. Well there is, and, as far as I know, there always has been. Short stories go back to antiquity and some of the earliest written forms of storytelling were based on the oral tradition of epics and anecdotes. They are woven throughout the Western Canon. They form the backbone of the 19th and 20th century explosion of genre fiction whether that be hardboiled detective stories, sci-fi, romance, mysteries and so forth. There are untold numbers of great short stories that can be read end to end in the duration of a train journey or a rainy weekend afternoon sitting indoors on the sofa. This may be an obvious point but people do not act as if this is the case when they trot out the ‘not enough time to read’ defence. There are notable short stories that are the same length as this short essay. Again, this is an obvious point (although it is not stated often enough) but I wanted to mention it as a prelude to my main point.
You see, what applies to readers applies to writers too. It’s the same dynamic in action, they are two sides of the same coin. I have encountered many many people intrigued by the possibility of writing3 and I always tell them variations on the same thing. Start small. Write either short observational essays or write dialogues and short stories. Not much has to happen in these stories, if anything. Just observe and daydream and remember and write down what these things bring to mind. Don’t get so engrossed in the (more than likely ego driven) idea of writing a huge epic masterpiece of a novel that in truth will be a millstone around your neck as opposed to a means of achieving artistic freedom and fulfilment4. It’s all a question of scale- short sessions reading short fiction, short shifts at the desk writing your own short stories, short walks and short deadlines and through these you will see noticeable improvements in your writing skills in a short space of time.
It all begins with the short story. And with the internet and print on demand the things we publish can be whatever length we choose. Novellas and shorter pieces are often exactly what the harried modern reader craves (even if they don’t know it) but the old world model means a much smaller book costs nearly the same as a larger volume. Hence the standard book length. But we are not bound by such strictures anymore, we can do what we want. And the purpose of this essay, as with my own quiet miniaturist short fiction is to stand as a reminder of this fact. We can do what we want, create what we want. We just have to not allow ourselves to be distracted by nonsense and crack on and do it.
Until next time,
Live well
Tom.
With apologies to Allen Ginsberg and perhaps apologies to you, dear reader, for indulging in what may well be a quite corny bit of beatnik referencing
For what it’s worth experience and observation have led me to believe that these factors are simultaneously both true and overstated. It’s like cigarettes- you can easily build up to a two packs a day habit but the withdrawals from cold turkey last for a day or two and consist of being vaguely irritable. So yes social media scrolling can get way out of hand but likewise you get over it within a day of deactivating your account.
I hate the term ‘aspiring writer’ and have gone out of my way to avoid saying it here. There are no barriers to writing barring having working hands, paper and a pen and even those can be worked around. If you write every day you are a writer, no aspiration necessary. It’s merely a decision and a daily practise.
Yes, all of this could function as advice to my younger self, how could you tell?
"The ability to concentrate on a narrative, to utilise your imaginative capabilities and visualise the scenes the writer is laying out become deconditioned much like how muscles atrophy as a result of prolonged sedentary lifestyles." Boy, do I know this! Though damage to my concentration was from a source other than the internet, it was nearly impossible to retrain that ability, by reading randomly ON the internet. It wasn't until I came across one of your Substack essays and then later became a paid subscriber, which gave access to the the STSC, that I found a source that linked me to quality, shorter essays and stories. In just a few months my concentration has returned and after struggling for several years, I think you are indeed on to something. I just want to say, and say it sincerely, Thank you Thomas, this is the way.
Excellent essay, Tom. This is something I need to remind myself with writing. Start small and build over time.