Prompt #82
I'm so sorry...
Good morning!
This one is from the archives. Sorry! (Not really.)
If you’ve been here for a while….
…(or if you’ve been to George Saunders’ substack where I’ve been known to pontificate in the comments section), you may have noticed that I have some fairly strong opinions about what constitutes a story. I write a lot about conventional story elements, and about a character having to make a character-defining choice. And so I was happy when I came across this definition of a story from the writer John L’Heureux:
“A story is about a single moment in a character’s life when a definitive choice is made, after which nothing is the same.”
If you’re keeping a list of “story definitions,” I think this is a good one to add.
But here’s the thing. There are times when even I have to put away those strong opinions, times when I have to stop looking for inciting incidents, and characters making choices, and instead rely more on feeling. Most of the time, this is when I am reading or writing something very short—what is often referred to as a flash fiction. Not only is there simply not room in a very, very short story for the kind of rising action, climax, crucial decision-making, and resolution that I find very satisfying. But those particular elements may not be the point.
We’ve said before that these kinds of very, very short stories rely a lot on implication—on what is not said. But here’s a bit more to think about when you write your story this week:
The wonderful writer and teacher Kathy Fish names three “essentials” for flash fiction:
1. Emotion
2. Movement (or meaningful change from beginning to end)
3. Resonance (the story speaks to something larger or lingers in the reader's heart and mind)
She goes on to say: “How you get there doesn’t much matter as long as you demonstrate these three.” (Kathy has an excellent substack called The Art of Flash Fiction, which I highly recommend.)
So: emotion, movement, and resonance. Those are the elements we’re going to be thinking about this week.
Take a look at the following story and see if you can discern Kathy Fish’s essential elements. It’s called “Swerve,” by Brenda Miller.
Did you read it already? Don’t read my next words here until you do.
I see all three elements in this story. The first line—well, the words “I’m sorry” prime a reader to believe there will be emotion in this story. And there is emotion—a lot of it. There is certainly movement—we start in one place in time and end up in another. So there is external change. Has there been internal change, though? That’s harder to say. This person is reflecting on their life, so perhaps the internal change is this ability to reflect. And resonance? “I would apologize, finally, for simply being alive.” Whoosh. That’s powerful. But there’s more: “And even now I’m sorry I didn’t swerve. I didn’t get out of the way.” Those words. I’m shaking my head right now reading them. That’s resonance.
TODAY’S PROMPT
Write your own “apology” flash fiction.
As in “Swerve,” begin your story with the words “I’m sorry about the time…”
Or, you can begin simply “I’m sorry about…”
Or just “I’m sorry.”
Or even “I’m not at all sorry…”
By starting off with an apology (or a non-apology), we’re already within the world of “emotion” that Kathy Fish talks about. No matter what you choose to write about, see if you can include some meaningful movement—some kind of change from beginning to end. And then leave us with a note of resonance to walk away with.
As always, 400 words max in the Comments section.
I’m sorry for so much.
When I woke up, I was still drunk and I think I knew you were gone, but I didn’t want to know. So, I drank more, and slept more, and things went on that way. I needed you so much that I couldn’t even begin to think that you would really leave.
A couple of months on, Jeff started trying to get the rent, which I didn’t have. I got mad and punched him when he came nosing around one day, and that made him mad. So, he started eviction proceedings. Just like I kept thinking you’d be back, I thought he’d drop the eviction, but he didn’t, and when the sheriff showed up to kick me out, I took a shot at him.
So, I wound up here, in the crowbar hotel, just as my father prophesized when I was ten. Over the years, I kept thinking that you’d eventually get curious and start poking around on the internet and find out I was here. I even told myself that one day you’d ask to be put on my approved visitor list.
Last spring, I was within spitting distance of parole. Before the hearing, they notified Jeff and the sheriff in case they wanted to testify. Anyway, getting that notice made Jeff mad all over again and, out of spite, he sent me your letter. He’d found it under a big pile of shit I’d left behind when I was arrested. I guess he saved it hoping for the day it could hurt me most.
Jeff got his wish. It broke my heart. All these years, I’ve been telling myself that you’d find out that you need me and you’d come crawling back asking me to forgive you. I even told myself that I was such a big man that I’d take you back even though for the next ten years or so all we could have would be an occasional night in the conjugal visit trailer.
Turns out that most of the things I tell myself are stupid.
I don’t know how to send you this letter, but it’s just as well. My apologies now would look insincere and manipulative. So, all I can say is this: I’m sorry too that you didn’t swerve the moment we met, and I am glad that when you finally swerved you never looked back.
I wish I were sorry, but I’m not. I know I should be, but I’m not. You no longer look me in the face, you don’t seek my eyes for approval, nor can I blame you. That’s not true. I do blame you for no longer loving me, for no longer speaking to me, for no longer wanting me by your side.
I wish I knew the exact moment you stopped loving me. The exact moment when I laughed too loudly, I didn’t admire you enough, didn’t laugh at your joke. When did I do something so wrong that I no longer hear your words in my ear, feel your breathe in my throat.
Can you be brave enough to tell me, I once told you I didn’t want to know. But to be honest I do, I think I do. Yes, I need to know so that I can stop loving you too.