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192 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2004
A short story, like fiction of any length, is about change. Even in a handful of pages, the characters can't be the same people in the last paragraph whom we meet in the first. If there's no change, there's no story, unless you write fiction for The New Yorker magazine.
In real life we have epiphanies all the time. But we wait for them to go away. Change is too hard, and too threatening. That's why we have fiction. Stories are better than real life, or we wouldn't have them...
All stories begin with those same two words: What if?
A story isn't what is. It's what if? Fiction isn't real life with the names changed. It's an alternate reality to reflect the reader's own world.
But what is a short story not? It's not a condensation of a novel, or an unfinished one. It's not Cliffs Notes to anything. It has its own shape and profile. It's not the New York skyline; it's a single church spire. Its end is much nearer its beginning, and so it can be overlooked.
"One tends to overpraise a long book because one has got through it," said E. M. Forster - a novelist. His tongue was in his cheek, but he makes a point...
The short story is much misunderstood. There are even aspiring writers who think they'll start out writing short stories and work their way up to the big time: novels. It doesn't work like that. A short story isn't easier than a novel. It has so little space to make its mark that it requires the kind of self-mutilating editing most new writers aren't capable of. It has less time to plead its case.