Slaughter of a Short Story
By
Ray Shoop
Stark, it lay on my desk, a scant reflection of its former fat and juicy self. It had been my best short story. It had a beginning that brought the reader in; a middle that fleshed out and brought the story to a climax, and an ending that even had what I thought was a clever twist.
When I first turned it in, I thought I would get at least an A or an A+. She handed it back with red ink dripping from it like blood. Then she gave me a new assignment. One I had feared and which I knew would prove difficult. "It's too long." My freelance writing instructor said. "It's too wordy." Cut it dawn to fifteen hundred words."
Right off, I knew this old gal was out of her tree, fifteen hundred words! Why, that would be a skeleton, something less than an outline. However, she was the teacher and I was there to learn. So, I sharpened up my knives, bought a new blade for my hacksaw and polished up my heavy cleaver.
First, using my hacksaw, I hacked away all the colorful but excess characters; the ones I had thrown in for flavor and fill. I left only a protagonist, an antagonist, and a mediator.
Then with my boning knife, I trimmed away all the excess character thought-internalization, leaving only that which was required for reader understanding.
I trimmed off all redundancies too.
Next came an extremely hard and delicate task. With tear filled eyes and using a sharp paring knife, I carefully trimmed and hacked away at my beloved and long labored over description. With bloodied fingers, I gently lay the extricated pieces in ever-growing piles.
When I was finished, I felt spent and not at all pleased with the results' but I had completed the assignment. I had cut, slashed, and trimmed my thirty-two-hundred-word story down to fifteen hundred words. I had turned my juicy T-bone steak into a slim trim fillet mignon.
I turned it in and got a favorable response. The story still needed some trimming and a little seasoning. But I should have no trouble marketing it. I did, and when it was published, I decided I liked fillets better than T-bones.
By
Ray Shoop
Stark, it lay on my desk, a scant reflection of its former fat and juicy self. It had been my best short story. It had a beginning that brought the reader in; a middle that fleshed out and brought the story to a climax, and an ending that even had what I thought was a clever twist.
When I first turned it in, I thought I would get at least an A or an A+. She handed it back with red ink dripping from it like blood. Then she gave me a new assignment. One I had feared and which I knew would prove difficult. "It's too long." My freelance writing instructor said. "It's too wordy." Cut it dawn to fifteen hundred words."
Right off, I knew this old gal was out of her tree, fifteen hundred words! Why, that would be a skeleton, something less than an outline. However, she was the teacher and I was there to learn. So, I sharpened up my knives, bought a new blade for my hacksaw and polished up my heavy cleaver.
First, using my hacksaw, I hacked away all the colorful but excess characters; the ones I had thrown in for flavor and fill. I left only a protagonist, an antagonist, and a mediator.
Then with my boning knife, I trimmed away all the excess character thought-internalization, leaving only that which was required for reader understanding.
I trimmed off all redundancies too.
Next came an extremely hard and delicate task. With tear filled eyes and using a sharp paring knife, I carefully trimmed and hacked away at my beloved and long labored over description. With bloodied fingers, I gently lay the extricated pieces in ever-growing piles.
When I was finished, I felt spent and not at all pleased with the results' but I had completed the assignment. I had cut, slashed, and trimmed my thirty-two-hundred-word story down to fifteen hundred words. I had turned my juicy T-bone steak into a slim trim fillet mignon.
I turned it in and got a favorable response. The story still needed some trimming and a little seasoning. But I should have no trouble marketing it. I did, and when it was published, I decided I liked fillets better than T-bones.
Ray, loved this. I have a few knives with blood dripping from cutting and cutting. But, as you said a fillet sometimes turns out better than a T-bone. Love having you as part of the Panhandle Writers Group we always enjoy your stories. Sharon
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