The Crescendo

snow covered house near trees and mountain during daytime

A Reiteration of something I once read a very long time ago!

AotherAA spark ignites the kindle, thus creating an ember. From here, a flame needs tending. As an author, I pledge to remain ever vigilant, and keep a lookout for the best of ways and means, to keep my fire aglow.

One day, my creative writing teacher, a beautiful spirit, introduced to our class, the one-page story format. I had never heard of Flash Fiction. Thinking back, I don’t remember if it even existed as a literary writing tool.

Someone I never met wrote the story I am about to tell you. Embellishments aside, I am trying to pay homage to the original author. I am drawing inspiration from an old memory. I feel terrible because I cannot remember the title or his name. All I remember is a little about his technique, and the genesis of his tale. He impacted my life. He provided the spark that contributed to my wanting to become an author. For lack of an original title, I’m just going to call this piece The Crescendo.

Alone, he sat, consumed by and within his high-backed green velveteen chair. His side table hosted a glass of his favorite single malt scotch whiskey, Glenmorangie; served neat, along with a separate glass of ice.

He opens the dog-eared coffee-stained page of his work. Somewhere near the start of the Third Act, for the hundredth time; he word-smiths the Dramatic Action…

They covered their faces and hands, but to no avail; as they continued to garner scratches from the leafless barbed branches and their ensnaring twigs. With one hand holding a pistol with one remaining bullet. The other was wrestling with hers. Were they predators or prey? Who knows? He kept looking forward; she kept looking back. It would be dark soon. One could feel the temperature dropping as the snowfall continued to mount.

They needed to find shelter. Other than the crisp and crackling noise, courtesy of the snapping branches, coupled with the thumping of their feet, silence ruled. One last moment to catch their breath, one last hill to climb; one more push to find shelter.

They came upon a hunter’s cabin, atop a hill, facing the clearing below. They had hope. Maybe now they could escape this nightmare.

Making their way forward towards the cabin, he’s lifts the door latch and pushes it open. As if guided forward with the help of a silent but wispy gust of cold air, they enter the cabin.

Ten paces in, she claims her space by holding her lover back. Locked in each other’s gaze, she gives the order; evidenced by the directive — a slight nod and slow release of his hand. He moves closer, taking an additional ten steps, then gives pause.

Upon her orders, he shoots the old man in the head. Who, just a few moments earlier, sat in his high-backed green velveteen chair, writing his last line of The Crescendo.

The purpose of the story was to introduce to our class various techniques or twists to employ when writing about how our characters roll through a story. The aforementioned example of beginning near the end and ending near the beginning was but one of the many techniques that we learned about.

There are many varied literary vehicles or tools from which to choose and employ. Using Flash Fiction as a modality of style, through setting, is one I find most intriguing.

One approach is to start with character first and let the story emanate outward from them. I could make a loose comparison of what’s now become mired within our literary vernacular, presented as a question for authors, Are you a Plotter, Panster, or some other hybrid creature?

The great Russian author Ivan Turgenev would start with characters first and story second. So, through the demonstration of a character’s actions, there would be greater congruency. His characters behave as they should behave as opposed to how he, as an author, wants them to behave.

I find both literary techniques especially useful when melded together. Begin with a character, then wrap them within a work of Flash Fiction; it can be as a back story. Even to something unrelated to some other tale of yours. The idea is to add greater overall depth to your literary work by starting with your character. And whatever actions he or she might take are based on how they should behave as opposed to how you would expect them to.

A Reiteration of something I once read a very long time ago!

Another spark ignites the kindle, creating an ember that requires careful tending to become a flame. As an author, I commit to remaining vigilant, always searching for ways to keep my fire aglow. I remember a day when my creative writing teacher, a beautiful spirit, introduced our class to the one-page story format known as Flash Fiction, a term that was unfamiliar to me at the time. Reflecting on it now, I can’t recall if it even existed as a recognized literary form. The story I am about to recount comes from an author I never met, and while I cannot remember his name or the title of his work, I hope to honor him by drawing inspiration from an old memory. His technique left a lasting impact on my life and inspired my journey to becoming an author. So, for want of an original title, I shall call this piece The Crescendo.

Picture him alone, enveloped in his high-backed green velveteen chair, with a glass of Glenmorangie, his favorite single malt scotch whiskey, served neat alongside a glass of ice. He opens the dog-eared, coffee-stained page of his manuscript near the beginning of the Third Act for the hundredth time, skillfully crafting the Dramatic Action.

…They shielded their faces and hands, yet still suffered scratches from the barbed, leafless branches and their snaring twigs. One hand clutched a pistol with a single bullet left while the other wrestled with hers. Were they predator or prey? Who could say?

He gazed ahead, while she looked back; darkness would soon descend. The temperature dropped, a chill in the air as the snowfall thickened. They needed to find shelter. Other than the crisp sound of snapping branches and the thump of their hurried steps, silence enveloped them. In this final moment to catch their breath, they faced one last hill to climb; another push towards safety. They spotted a hunter’s cabin atop a hill overlooking the clearing below and, with newfound hope, approached it. He lifted the latch, pushing the door open as if propelled by a whisper of cold air, and they stepped inside. Ten paces forward, she anchored her lover in place, their eyes locked in a silent understanding. With a slight nod and a slow release of his hand, she issued her command. He advanced a few more steps, paused, and upon her cue, shot the old man in the head, who just moments before had sat in his green chair, penning the last lines of The Crescendo.

This story served to teach our class various techniques and twists for navigating character journeys within a narrative. Beginning near the end and ending near the beginning exemplified just one of many methods we explored. Countless literary tools await an author’s choice, and I find the use of Flash Fiction as a stylistic modality particularly captivating. One approach starts with character, allowing the story to unfold around them. This brings to mind the question now commonplace in literary discussions: Are you a Plotter, Pantser, or a hybrid? The esteemed Russian writer Ivan Turgenev favored starting with characters first and letting the story follow. His characters acted in ways congruent with their nature rather than conforming to the author’s expectations. I see immense value in blending these literary techniques; begin with a character, envelop them in a piece of Flash Fiction, whether as backstory or a separate thread unrelated to your other works. The goal is to enhance the depth of your narrative by rooting it in character-driven actions that reflect their true nature rather than your preconceived notions.

WTF Do I Know

by Scott Tanner | Creative Writing, Flash Fiction, Freethinker, Readers, Writers

We’re sitting outside, having our early morning coffee. Our hideaway is on State and Main. From inside, we’re looking out. Beyond the town’s embrace, just past some well-tended hemp fields, we can still see and appreciate the ghostly “Fog pockets”; as they’re desperately trying to conceal themselves from the morning sun. They struggle to hide within the crevices the hills provide. There’s only one switch-back road. It’s a trucker’s secret. It allows for safe passage, making their way here, from somewhere way over there.

What if, while relaxing, drinking our morning brew, and shooting the s**t, we notice a truck careening down the hill; and it’s going way too fast? The driver’s aggressively blowing his horn. He’s still a good mile away, but he can’t go unnoticed by us, anyway.

However, others have noticed nothing unusual at all. Remember, ours is a small town and everyone else is just going about their daily business. That you and I are older now gives reason to take notice of the minor changes that nature, or rather life itself, gives to us; it’s obligatory.

Concerned. We don’t know if the driver will get his brakes back or run off the road. End up in a gully! Maybe go off a cliff. Or worse, what if he comes barreling through town? What damage or carnage can he inflict? Who knows? All we know is that we’re scared; other than that we don’t Jack-s**t!

And neither do you! I control the narrative, but that means nothing anymore, as most people don’t even know how to read. Nor are they inclined to learn. Young people today, all they know how to do is trim their thumbnails. Prove me wrong! Another privilege of getting older. We’ve earned the right to behave like two cantankerous old coots, haven’t we?

As a child, I remember when my father sat cross-legged on the dirt in the middle of the only town intersection, w/ a blinking street signal. I sat on his lap. He claimed we were sitting in the exact middle of the Continental United States. He said, “My bottom was sooooo big — it covered all four corners of the country.” Only to go on and tickle me until I begged for mercy. Trying not to beg, I went as long as possible. I never wanted him to stop. I miss him. Anyway, where was I? Where am I going? I’ve lost my brakes.

In some places, things change too much and too soon. Ours wasn’t one of those places; we lived and loved in our peaceful little town. Change was natural and inevitable, but metered; by whom, or what, I don’t have a clue.

So we need to warn people! And get the children out of the street. Let the shopkeepers know there’s a truck careening out of control. Coffee time is over.

That truck, — well, it’s your (F***’N BLANK). I think I may have seen him, her, it, them… before. Look! He’s trying to blend in with the ghosts on the hillside. Yeah, that’s not working for them. Even worse, it’s not working for you and me. Come join us for coffee; bring a friend! See what’s coming for yourselves.

F.Y.I.

There’s a rock w/ a dial on it, — it’s in the Berkshires. Located where New York, Massachusetts, and Connecticut border—I’ve sat on that rock. Maybe you should too; it’ll cleanse your chakras.

You may not know WTF is wrong with you, let alone what you need to do, to find out about your “Self”’ but at least you’ll come away knowing that there’s room for acknowledgement, and that’s the first step! It’s hard to see yourself when your mirror’s broken into a thousand pieces of charred glass.

To reconstitute your soul is akin to putting together those pieces of glass; don’t be surprised to find a few pieces have gone missing. Step back, squint your eyes. What you’ll see is a mosaic. The image that surfaces will be better, more complete than before you let and led others to destroy your “Self”.

Take solace, not umbrage in the fact these are or soon will be gone. And remember, I’m an old man, prone to ramble. I’ve earned that right! Hopefully, one day, you too will have your rights restored, you know, the ones you just recently gave away.