Final thoughts

ScottChan

I really should have been updating this page more often.

This past two months I've been reading like crazy. I've been listening to The New Yorker fiction podcasts and some cracker readings from Selected Shorts. I've been part of the Subcommittee, an online group of thirteen writers supporting each other and pushing for challenging goals and high standards among the group. I've been writing too, although to be honest, revising is a better word. Put simply, I've never been so committed to perfecting each story I write and submit.

Sadly, my PhD duties have made it harder and harder to keep this blog going. I've easily read 100 short stories since my last post and would love to tell you all about them, but time is limited, so instead, here are ten of the best stories I've read, reread or listened to since we last spoke:

1) Tobias Wolff - Bullet in the Brain
2) Nicholson Baker - Subsoil
3) Paddy O'Reilly - Speak to Me
4) Tara June Winch - Cloud Busting
5) Leonard Michaels - Nachman from Los Angeles
6) D.H. Lawrence - The Rocking Horse Winner
7) Shirley Jackson - The Lottery
8) Joshua Lobb - I Forgot My Programme So I Went to Get It Back or 101 Reasons
9) Amy Hempel - REFERENCE #388475848-5
10) Sherman Alexie - War Dances

Only one of these writers (Tobias Wolff) has been previously featured on The Gum Wall, which says a great deal about the wealth of incredible short fiction that's being published and celebrated around the world.

While The Gum Wall is finished for now, many others continue to discuss and promote quality literature. Among them, I include the mighty Book Fox, The Short Review, Verity La, LiteraryMinded and Spineless Wonders. In addition, I would like to thank Angela Meyer, Karen Andrews, A.S. Patric, Ryan O'Neill, Vicki Thornton, Louise Swinn, Zoe Dattner and Bronwyn Mehan for their help with the blog. It's all well and good to crap on about short stories, but it's far more enjoyable when you have some friends along for the ride.

By all means, feel free to contact me via email if you want to talk writing, reading or short fiction. In the meantime, thanks for sharing the love with me over the past two years. It's been a blast.

Best wishes,

Laurie

Life Through a Flash Fiction Lens

Last Friday I had some fun on Twitter.

Well okay, I wasn't actually on Twitter. I hadn't taken a huge sniff of the social network and logged on, high as a kite and keen to hug anybody or everybody. Rather, I'd been buoyed by the magic of #flashfiction, the skilled writers who could take a sentence and craft a narrative.

The best I came up with was "Rang wife, man answered." As short stories went, it was very short; Tattoo from Fantasy Island short but without the annoying yelling of "the plane, boss, the plane". Thankfully, I wasn't the only one playing that day, and Alice Grundy (@Alicektg) came up with "Girl meets boy. Decapitates. Runaway assassin."

I wasn't sure what was more disturbing, the image, or that even as this woman was lopping off a boy's head, I still found myself strangely drawn to her. I could actually hear the roll of the head across wooden floorboards but was still thinking "how do I get next to her?"

More surprising was the challenge presented by the act of writing flash fiction. @lorryx3 and @NaeDanielle took the easy way out, although the latter's "In the beginning, the end," did raise some interesting existential questions. @dingotookmybaby tackled autobiographies with his "Lived boring life, wrote it down," but to my mind, the one that lingered was @ZoeDattner with "Sorry, I backed the wrong horse."

This to me, had all the hallmarks of a Carver story, where a  man named Bill marries a woman named Lorraine, and she bakes a cake, only it sinks in the middle, and then, as the sun slips down behind the trees, he turns to her, eyes bloodshot, and utters that final immortal line, knowing he barely has enough money to make it to Michigan, let alone the West Coast.

It was fun playing with flash fiction, but for me it provides limited scope. Part of my joy in reading short fiction is unravelling the riddle. At present I'm reading Tim Winton's The Turning, and finding myself continually surprised by the directions he takes. Sometimes, it's only as I'm coming to the last few pages that I realise I'm in the company of a writer with supreme mastery of the form. And somehow, I can't imagine the same experience with such a passing moment as flash fiction, which to me feels more like a kiss stolen in a hallway, or a moment of clarity.

On another topic, I watched the above video from David M. Harris, teacher from Vanderbilt University, and while personally, I think any one of us could become the next Chekhov with the right level of application and a bit of luck, I also found his thoughts quite pertinent. Enjoy!

#36: The Scarlatti Tilt by Richard Brautigan

Available: Revenge of the Lawn
Further Reading: The Richard Brautigan Archives 

Richard Brautigan was a novelist, poet and short story writer in the 1960's and 70's. Depending on who you talk to, his work was beautiful or depressing, funny or tragic, and perhaps both at the same time. Opinions being opinions, I won't bore you with mine, but to say that at his best, he wrote some of the most stunningly beautiful fiction I've ever read.

Brautigan's work may have been many things, but it was never predictable. With The Scarlatti Tilt, he wrote his own riff on "short" short stories with a tale to rival Hemingway's classic "For sale: baby shoes, never worn". The Scarlatti Tilt, while no match for Hemingway, is still worthy of praise, if only for its sense of humour. And although Brautigan sadly took his own life in 1984, he left behind some incredibly funny, strange and memorable poetry and prose for us to feast on.

The Story
I'll break from tradition for this particular story, in that it's only two sentences long and is better read than discussed . So, here we go:

"It's very hard to live in a studio apartment in San Jose with a man who's learning to play the violin." That's what she told the police when she handed them the empty revolver.

-Richard Brautigan, The Scarlatti Tilt,  from Revenge of the Lawn, 1974, Picador.

Why it Sticks
Literature often takes itself far too seriously. In this story, Brautigan is happy to simply tell an incredibly short story with a comic touch, and for this, he's to be commended.

Revenge of the Lawn is, in my opinion, a frustratingly uneven collection of short stories, and I might be better suggesting either Trout Fishing in America or In Watermelon Sugar for those seeking Brautigan at his best. That said, it's still nice to read a collection so seemingly indifferent to literary rule or convention. The Scarlatti Tilt succeeds precisely because it cares not for restrictive rules on length, tone, or style of composition. If I could review two stories in this post, I would also tell you to read Pacific Radio Fire as well; it's also short and yet strangely difficult to forget.

Perhaps Pacific Radio Fire would have probably made a better post, but then blogging isn't always about creating the illusion of order, or dishing out meaning in bite sized chunks. Sometimes it's just a shared joke, spread over the internet, to remember a man both funny and frank...be he consistent, inconsistent, or both, all at the same time.
 

#35: Where We Must Be by Laura van den Berg

Author Website: http://www.lauravandenberg.com/
Available: What the world will look like when all the water leaves us

While it's important to honour the classics of short fiction as truly great stories, I feel it's equally important to place modern writers within such a context. It's all too easy to suggest that today's writers struggle to compare without fully evaluating their experimentation with style, topic, and structure.

While I'm still to mention Sherwood Anderson, Donald Barthelme, Katherine Mansfield, Doris Lessing, Lydia Davis, and any number of other fine writers in this ever expanding blog, today I'm focusing on Laura van den Berg, whose debut collection what the world will look like when all the water leaves us was shortlisted for The Frank O'Connor International Short Story Award in 2010.

I'm not at all surprised it was shortlisted, for if there's one things van den Berg does extremely well, it's playing with thematic elements and creating new hybrids from seemingly cliched narratives. In van den Berg's world, missionaries become obsessed with creatures rumoured to be living in the Congo; a clerk who sells Balinese masks takes solace in them as a love affair falls to pieces, and, in where we must be, a failed actress takes on a particularly challenging role.

The Story
Jean has taken a job as a Bigfoot impersonator at a recreation park in Northern California. People pay to be chased by Bigfoot; someone has to fill his hairy shoes. Jean spends her downtime with Jimmy, a lover who's fast succumbing to lung cancer. They live in a sleepy neighbourhood with rusty water pipes.

With Jimmy's time running out, Jean ponders her own existence. Having walked away from the heartbreak of countless failed auditions, she's found comfort behind the mask of Bigfoot. With Jimmy dying and her mother constantly berating her lack of career progress, Jean hides away from reality as best she can. But she's yet to meet her next customer for the day: a man who has no interest in being chased by a Bigfoot and is looking for an entirely new experience...

Why It Sticks
where we must be impressively balances the more traditional short story territory of loss and with a humourous bent on acting as escape, as affirmation and as desperation. The absurdity of the Bigfoot impersonator is extreme, yet not so extreme to be considered unlikely, as anyone who's visited a fun park will attest. In Jean, the story finds its emotional centre, a young failed actress who longs to be something, while all the time acknowledging Jimmy's increasingly fragile state.

Time here is truly of the essence. Time waiting; time planning; time slipping away while day-to-day living occurs. The relationship between Jean and Jimmy is beautifully rendered, while all around them we see decay; the softening of pears, the rust in the water, and the slow dissolution of long-term life plans.

You will not read another story like where we must be this year. The theme of loss may on the one hand feel familiar, but then perhaps this is van den Berg's greatest strength: Taking the familiar and rendering it anew, linking fear, mythology and personal experience into an all the more powerful cacophony of emotion.

#34: My Father's Axe by Tim Winton

It’s easy to neglect the Australian short fiction that's shone in the past thirty years. Were one to revisit the classics, they'd find writers such as Moorhouse, Jolley, Carey, Goldsworthy, Kennedy, Tuner-Hospital, Hitchcock, and Robert Drewe, all of whom have experimented with the form to great effect. Unless they’ve been living in a commune, they’d also consider Tim Winton and his incredible talent for writing powerful, succinct short fiction.

The Story
A man mourns the loss of his axe. It has been stolen; it is not known by whom. As the story unfolds, the main character remembers his father through axe-related memories: nights chopping wood in the darkness, animals killed with its blunt head, and a child getting to know his silent, practical father. In the present day, the main protagonist fears his father’s death, and the loss of certainty that will come when it occurs. He spends nights in existential angst beside his sleeping wife, his fears overcoming him.

Alone and afraid, he goes out to buy a new axe. And to say anymore would spoil the rest of the story.

Why it Sticks
My Father’s Axe is what these days might be a called a typical Winton Story, but at the time was, with A Blow, A Kiss, one of two groundbreaking stories exploring the father/son bond in Winton's debut short story collection. What’s refreshing is the tenderness of the central relationship in My Father’s Axe, a mutual unspoken understanding. It's touching without ever straying into sentimentality.

Winton’s masculinity is a strangely inclusive one, and forecasts a shift in identity from his father’s generation to his own. What once was the domain of the strong, silent type opens up into the more conversational, sensitive characters ever so tentatively opening up to partners, mothers, or friends from distant lands.

Tim Winton has arguably written tighter, more complete stories, but what’s impressive about My Father’s Axe is its inherent approachability. Any writer who has worked through a writing exercise will recognise the simplicity of Winton's meditation on a single object, and yet also be impressed by such a layered final product. The axe in the story is totem, character and narrative device, and by the story’s end, all aspects have been thoroughly explored in only twelve pages.

Masculinity had never been so sensitively explored as in Tim Winton’s Scission. And I was uniquely touched, on reading (and rereading) My Father's Axe, by his balance of beauty and brutality.

Rocket Clocks and the Rise of Ryan O'Neill

Firstly, my sincere apologies for the delay between posts. A trip to New Zealand and the unutterable joy of arranging a new ISP here in Western Australia have contributed to an involuntary break. Here's hoping you've been reading as much as I have during the break, and have found words, near perfect, on page or (i) pad.

The biggest news I received during the hiatus was that Gum Wall of Famer Ryan O'Neill has had his collection accepted by Black Inc, for publication in 2012. This union is somewhat akin to Dave Eggers hooking up with Miranda July and the two of them writing a film together. In short, it's very exciting news, and in Ryan's case, it's also well deserved. Congratulations are definitely in order.

Secondly, the gang at Rocket Clock have sent me some information regarding their next monthly slam competition (see below). Though I can't be there, I think anyone willing to host storytelling events should be encouraged. If you do go, let me know how it works/what it's like/your favourite story, and I'll endeavour to attend in late May when I'm in Melbourne.

Oh, and speaking of Melbourne, the 2011 Emerging Writers Festival is coming...and it's going to be huge.  Head here:

Happy reading and writing, people. More reviews to come of stories from Laura van den Berg and Tim Winton in the next couple of weeks. I've also read Gene Wilder's autobiography, but you didn't need to know that...

Until next,

Laurie


What is Rocket Clock?
Rocket Clock is a monthly story slam competition. Ten people each have five minutes to tell a story around a particular theme. Judges in the audience rate each story on both content and performance. Everyone has a great time.

Rocket Clock Story Slam: “Small World”
We’re looking for stories of chance encounters, surprising connections and unexpected run-ins. Six degrees of separation. The Global Village. Coincidental reunions. It’s a small world after all.

Pre-register your intent to tell by emailing rocketclockss@gmail.com, or register on the night. Everyone is welcome to come along and listen, laugh, drink, cheer & weep.

When and where:
Wednesday March 9, 2011

Doors open 7.30pm; slam kicks off 8.30pm.
Bella Union: Level 1, Trades Hall
Corner of Victoria & Lygon Streets, Carlton South

Entry by donation (suggested amount $5).
MC: Jon Bennett

Upcoming slams:
Wednesday April 6, 2011: “Lesson Learnt” *Comedy Festival special*
Wednesday April 13, 2011: “Secrets” *Comedy Festival special*

More info:
rocketclock.com.au

Let's Talk about Sex (In Writing)

This post was supposed to be about Robert Drewe's Baby Oil, but I reread the story and it didn't grab me.

This probably says more about me than the story, as literary tastes obviously change over a lifetime. At fifteen I was excited to be reading about sex. I did not struggle, as I do now, with Drewe's description of Anthea's oiled up nipples as big silver coins, nor did I wonder what sort of sex could make both Brian's keys and his coins rattle the way they did.

In all fairness, the Baby Oil sex scene is no better or worse than many I read, and The Bodysurfers was a landmark collection. It's just that writing good sex scenes is hard work. It's doing an Iron Man marathon with a stitch, it's writing an essay on the night before it's due, and some writers avoid it entirely. If you have experimented with such scenes in your writing, let me know how you went. Was it hard? Was it easy? Were the nipples big silver coins, or indeed any other form of currency?

The first sex scene I wrote was damn awful and I kid you not, involved a mantra-like chant and constant references to the various colours of the rainbow. I wrote it in 2004, which, according to physicsworld.com, was also the year when quantum cryptography was used in a commercial transaction for the first time. But I digress.

I won't reproduce the scene here as it's now being used to scare kids into celibacy, but lets just say it also includes both a heaving body and an ocean of feelings...and is not at all sexy.

Maybe it's a guy thing. Because of all the books I've read I remember only two interesting sex scenes, both written by women.

The first was in Julienne Van Loon's Road Story, which is also an excellent book. Why is the scene so good? Because there's no oceans, no rolling, no girth or width. There's just sweat, bodies and an urgency that keeps you reading.

I also enjoyed the sex scenes in Angela Meyer's You Will Notice That Hallways Are Painted, from Torpedo Greatest Hits. I liked these scenes because they said much about the character, touching on sex as emotional release, sex as blurred boundaries, and sex as both the culmination and the antithesis of intimacy. So maybe there's hope for us yet.

On another note, we have competition winners to announce: my congratulations to Jordi Kerr and Melanie Beer, who won our [Untitled] competition, and Boris Kelly, who won our page seventeen competition back in December. Congratulations guys, and happy reading!

Note: I'm aware at this point, that I may have missed some great sex scenes written by men. So if you've read any good one written by guys (and no, don't say Henry Miller), then let me know.