by D.L. Snell
Similar to a beauty pageant, the short story market requires an optimum weight, measuring words instead of pounds. Through employing contractions, precise verbs and accurate nouns, by compacting wordiness and by dumping descriptive overload, your story may pass preliminaries and proceed to win the crown, looking great in the process.
CASHING IN POCKET CHANGE: CONTRACTIONS
Stepping onto a scale with a pocket full of nickels and dimes can add tons to your weight, so why not cash in loose change for a crisp dollar bill and receive an accurate result instead? Likewise, use contractions for a more precise word count.
Consider the following sentence: "I did not win the pageant, because I am too wordy." Stiff-legged, this sentence chinks and clinks with too many coins.
Here is the sentence again, minus the three rolls of quarters crammed into its pockets: "I didn't win the pageant, because I'm too wordy."
After contracting did not and I am, the sentence loses two ounces. This loss may seem insignificant, but apply contractions universally, and your story will sigh with relief; it will also be easier on the eye without all that metal clumped on its hips. Dialogue will become more natural, and sentences will straighten previously burdened and hunched-over spines.
The beauty judges are already impressed.
Now, about those love handles. . . .
ELIMINATING SECOND HELPINGS: WORDINESS
Wordiness is the gluttony of prose, a second plateful at dinner. Below, you will find Before and After photos of generic corpulent phrases that have wisely reduced mealtime helpings:
Due to the fact that = Because
Regardless of the fact that = Although
Concerning the matter of = Regarding
Has the ability to = Can
In close proximity to = Near
The fact that he had not succeeded = His failure
Simply put, if one word fully nourishes, then refrigerate leftovers; or better yet, feed them to your dog, cat, or other garbage disposal unit. The judges will respect your self-control, and so will your reflection.
TRADING JUNK FOOD FOR HEALTH NUGGETS: NOUNS & ADJECTIVES, VERBS & ADVERBS
Fattening and malnutritious, adverbs and adjectives are a writer's fast food. Conversely, a healthy diet of verbs and nouns will stimulate weight loss and boost energy.
This example gorged on three double cheeseburgers, a super-sized order of fries, and a double chocolate milkshake preceding preliminaries: "A fiendish, troll-like thing ran very quickly across the gravelly lot." Like this sentence, two out of five Americans are obese. Both the adjectives and the adverbs are vague and sagging, in need of an intense workout.
Here is the same sentence, on a diet of carrots and tofu: "The gremlin dashed across the gravel lot." Notice how slim this example is around the waist. Firstly, the description-packed noun, gremlin, replaced the wimpier noun, thing, along with all of its empty-carb adjectives. Lastly, the verb, dashed, girdled the verb-adverb string, ran very quickly, creating a subtle onomatopoeia: dash is the sound of sprinting through gravel. Of course, a gremlin could slink across a gravel lot, as well. Or it could also skedaddle.
Overall, the sentence lost ten pounds and gained descriptive pep.
True, a healthy diet requires some adverbs and adjectives, but ensure that these auxiliary words are complex carbohydrates, from sources like whole wheat. If you do, the judges may nod amongst themselves and place you in the preliminaries.
SEALING THE COOKIE JAR: EXCESS INFORMATION
Not only high in sugars and carbohydrates, snacks are unnecessary, and they rot your teeth. If the food doesn't add to the three main meals, leave it at the candy store: "Jane swung her legs over the bed, nestled her feet into her pink bunny-ear slippers, stood up, stretched, groaned, and went to the bathroom to get a cold cup of water to drink."
To start, if nothing significant happens to Jane during or due to her trip to the bathroom, don't mention it. Even if something does occur, the steps between are snacks. So get your hand out of the cookie jar and simply say, "Donning her pink bunny-ear slippers, Jane left her bed for a drink in the bathroom."
I kept the slippers, because when Jane spills water on them later in the story, they come alive and eat her, morphing into glutton bunnies that snack on Jane's three kittens while toting penny roles in their fluorescent-pink fanny packs. Otherwise, I would have sealed the slippers in the cookie jar, along with other worthless details.
Don't get me wrong: used sparingly, snacks can sweeten narrative. Just be sure to wipe the crumbs off your dress so that the judges won't notice. And brush your teeth, too, because sweets lead to tooth decay, and judges frown upon cavity-blackened smiles.
MODERATING THANKSGIVING: DESCRIPTION
Glittery, snowy, and brimming with feasts, holidays are a time to don your bib. Don't overindulge though, or your story will bloat like a Thanksgiving turkey.
Like said festive bird, the upcoming description overflows with stuffing: "The Christmas tree was ablaze with red, blue, and green lights, which reflected off the crinkly tinsel and made the crust of fake snow glow on the branches." Unless the Christmas tree is the focus of your story, or unless it is unusual, it is unnecessary to detail something that virtually everyone recognizes. If anything, it should be a garnish and not a meal.
Moreover, here's a gobble-gobble that didn't gobble quite so much Stove Top this holiday: "The presents sparkled with Christmas-tree reflections and twinkled with fake snowflakes." Here, the key points to powerful description are brevity, unique perspective, and allowing the reader to decorate his or her own tree. Descriptions should be like your beauty pageant dress: gorgeous, glimmering, yet not too revealing. Leave something to the imagination, and the judges will applaud.
THE SCORECARD: FIT AND TRIM
So, you have emptied your pockets, changed your diet and eliminated snack foods. You've curbed Thanksgiving gorges and have limited yourself to one serving per meal. When you finally hop on the bathroom scale, it reads 2,000 words: your optimum word count.
Congratulations! You've made it to the finals.
While the judges decide and whisper amongst themselves, you suck in your breath, not for a temporary tummy tuck, but because you are excited. You have drudged hours on a treadmill for this moment. You have done a gazillion crunches. You've earned this. You are ready.
Finally disengaging, the judges hold up their scorecards.
Now all that matters is natural beauty.
D.L. Snell makes his stories do so many sit-ups that his novels shrink into flash fiction. He lives in Hugo, Oregon, where his dark fantasy novella Hourglass takes place. For more information, such as free articles and free ad space for your own work, visit Snell's website, Exit66.net.
This article may be freely reprinted in any e-zine, newsletter, newspaper, magazine, website, etc. as long as all links remain intact, as well as Snell’s byline and bio; also, the article must not be altered.