Yep- I have several Story Magazine issues that came with a contest submission and like it a lot. Have also submitted there 5 times in the last 3 years- without success- but they send a nice form rejection letter inviting to try again.
I just browsed the new incarnation of Story magazine and what struck me is that every contributor had a high pedigree bio, like had published books with higher tier publishers and had all won some heavyweight awards. Thus, it made me suspect the mag is soliciting a lot of work from well established writers more than catering to emerging writers. Now maybe I'm way off here. But I did get that distinct impression. Check out the the contributor bios of a recent issue and see what you think.
Yes, I see what you mean. Their guidelines do not mention emerging authors and they don't read blind. Hard to know how much is solicited. I haven't seen any interviews with their editors.
"We talked about what makes a story right for Story Magazine, what sorts of editorial work Michael will do with a writer, the process of selecting pieces for contests, how to make sense of rejections, what kind of stories Michael would like to see more of and less of, and the amazing feeling of being the first place to publish an incredible new talent. Plus, so much more." quote and interview by Becky Tuch.
Funny you mention Becky Tuch as I am about to watch her interview with Story editor Michael Nye, via her Lit Mag News Roundup. I find it to be an excellent "insider's" perusal of lit mags which features interviews with their lead editors. Well worth the $5/monthly subscription. Thanks for sharing. I think Becky has one of the best Substack things going for literary writers. Although no one can top this one with George . . .
Yes, I don't subscribe but I get her emails and I've watched many of the interviews with editors of lit mags-- most are still free, I think. Yes, helpful and interesting to hear directly from a wide range of editors!
I have also written many stories in the strange sleepless surreal land that is having small adorable children banging on pots and refusing shoes. (I actually did a video about writing in very small spurts, and still getting writing done, here: https://juliefalatko.substack.com/p/writing-in-30-second-spurts)
I don't write short stories, though, I write picture books, which are actually short stories, I guess, but with illustrations, and for kids so there's no cussing or sexytime, but otherwise: the same. You are probably reading a bunch of picture books already. I'm not here to tell you what to write, but there is a satisfying process to writing one page a day of a picture book, in the time it takes you to scribble something down on an index card while the macaroni is boiling. A page of a picture book is a sentence, or a few words. It's pretty fun.
I too really enjoyed and was inspired by your video, e.g., the sense you were speaking to us during one of those precious short windows and letting yourself just flow with a charming no-frills sincerity.
It hits me exactly where I live right now, trying to squeeze out ten minutes here and there to refine a line, writing at the speed of slug, but hopefully noticing more of the world than when writing like a breathless marathoner.
I will remind you that squeezing out ten minutes and writing at the speed of a slug is still more than many people manage, and that books and stories get built a word at a time, and in the end no one can tell how fast you wrote something. I'm cheering you on!
Likewise: your kindness and encouragement are priceless; back at you, Julie! (It’s amazing how offspring change one’s life in every way. I had nearly given up on writing, but my son turning two in June 2020 made me think, get back to work already, old fool!)
And for sure it's a minute-by-minute thing. My youngest turned 13 last week, but still there are days where I can't properly form a sentence and all I can do is walk slowly with the dog and pretend I'm thinking about my book but really I'm listening to Fleetwood Mac or something.
I love this. I could have been a great stay-at-home-dad-write-in-bursts-while-the-macaroni-boils. Instead, I toiled away at the deathstar beneath the weight of my conscience.
The deathstar is a different sort of baby, I'm sure. But it still offered moments to write! So that's something. (Also I've never heard AT&T called that, and it's hilarious.)
I think too a lot about Cal Newport (the Deep Work guy) saying that no one asks a firefighter if they got a chance to work on their novel when they were putting out that huge warehouse fire. And so much of parenting is the equivalent of that, the giant fire. You are putting out fires all the time, and if you can manage any creative time at all, you're doing awesome. And also know that the warehouse will not be burning forever.
I can definitely relate to what you said about your writing not seeming to matter until you had children. Only after I had kids did my songs and stories begin to operate at a whole different level. I was no longer a third-party observer of my life, but an active participant with things to lose. I also chuckled about your stealth writing on the clock. Fifteen years ago I wrote an entire novel while working at the death star (what employees call AT&T). Not my most noble moment, but the only way I could keep my soul from drowning in Dilbertland.
I had cancer instead of kids, but I think it had a similar effect. Suddenly I wanted to write truthfully and, well, comedically about my experiences to help other young adults going through the same thing. At the time, the concerns of young adults weren’t really considered. It felt imperative. I’m still involved in advocacy and I’m happy that adolescent and young adult oncology programs and support has grown exponentially (not due to me, but I was happy to be a part of it).
AT&T is the worst. They offer very little in my neighborhood in Chicago. Just lay cable already! (I also worked in telecommunications consulting for a short time before my diagnosis and it was only slightly better working with major account agents. Just slightly). Not a passion job for me, but it was a small office with people I liked.
Cancer will do it. I left my work in dance education shortly after completing treatment and all I want to do is write and write, draw some, write more - pause - write nothing for a spell and "think" about the story that needs to be written, as George said. It changed everything. The medical journey was so lacking in narrative. Everything was fragmented and lacked imagination or anything related to the person or a personal lens. I definitely feel a need to advocate in my own ways, as you mention felt important to you. But interestingly, advocating might come in the form of fiction...though I don't fully know what I mean by this yet.
There is so much mediocre "sick lit" that feels so romanticized or sad for sad's sake. There is definitely a need for better stories that both survivors and humans can relate to without fetishizing the cancer patient or experience. I do mostly essays because I'm not a strong fiction writer. But I would love to read a book or story like that.
It sounds like you have read more than me in the "sick lit" genre. I have mostly been reading literature written by doctors because I found the patient experience to be so complicated and have been trying to understand docs more. Most recent reads have been Invisible Kingdom by Meghan O'Rourke and A History of Present Illness by Anna DeForest. The former is a good read, balanced and well researched, though not specifically about cancer; the latter, brilliant (IMO!); a poet/neurologist's "fictional" account of medical school. What the genre of fiction afforded the author gives me hope that I can write something truly honest.
1. Sticks is just such a fantastic story. It's one of my favorite stories, ever. One thing--every time I read it, I am stopped in the same place. It's when the narrator says "...found the seeds of meanness blooming also within us." I never see the Dad as mean. I figure (every time) that he's a frugal sort, born of depression-era mentality. Even the one crayon at a time out of the box, or the no ice cream--i see those as quirks. Then the kids grow up and roll their eyes when reminiscing: Dad! Wouldn't even let us have ice cream! But the fact that i "read" the dad this way doesn't interfere with my love for the story. I just feel for the guy. And I love him. His one "concession to glee" is just so fantastic! Have I got it all wrong?
2. Constraints can be god-sends when it comes to getting words on a page.
3. I have never, ever forgotten how tired I was when my kids were small. Maybe i can't actually "feel" it--sort of like the pain of giving birth--but oh yeah, I remember.
4. George, you write that "the big difference between this and [your] “real” writing" is that you gave yourself a time constraint. But hey--Sticks IS your real writing! Just not your usual. I see Sticks as the George underneath the George of your other stories. The George of this world as opposed to the other worlds you like to dive into.
5. Key takeaway: "I’m trusting my subconscious mind."
6. Thank you so much for walking us through the creation of this story! And thank you to the questioner for bringing up Sticks in the first place. I'd say "enjoy those kids of yours" but i used to hate it when people said that to me. I mean, of course i wanted to enjoy them, but not all of it is enjoyable. Some parts suck. (But mostly, it's great, especially in retrospect.)
yes, I think I got/get that from the story. And I guess it is a kind of meanness--being so ungenerous with one's money. On the other hand, it seems that each time I read the story I give the Dad a break. I just have a hard time labeling his actions as mean, probably because his one concession to glee shows him to be a kind of interesting, sort of fun guy, in his own way. Certainly the kids didn't enjoy his frugality. I like to think they caught themselves when they imitated their old man. And then ponied up for some ice cream. (It must be frustrating, hearing interpretations that you didn't mean. Then again, it comes with the territory. As I've said before: The Road Less Traveled. Frost must be rolling in his grave when he hears the wrong interpretation over and over again.)
I'm now the father of three little kids, in addition to being a son. I am now that mean guy--that monster. I am not as mean as this dad, who seems to have belonged to my grandfather's (WWII, Great D) generation. But I'm certainly, in my kids eyes, sometimes mean--just as my dad seemed mean to me.
I try to give my dad a break, and I hope that my kids give me a break. This story gives me a little place to hang the hope that they try to love and understand me as I love them. Thank you.
Parents have to be "mean" at times. And, in normal home situations, kids feel safe when they know boundaries. I'm guessing your kids love and adore you!
I feel the same way about the dad, Mary. I took him to be more fun to the outside world, strangers, other kids, than to his own kids. He couldn't let loose with them. But then in the end he does, using the stick to communicate what he failed to in person. I have sympathy for him. He was only free and loving with and through the stick. And then the stick goes and gets the message across. And seeing it, probably lying on its side in the garbage made me sad for the dad.
They surely do Mary, And, my thought, isn't that what each and every short story George has put into each of his so generously and well framed 'invitations to engage in discussing' seem to be about... "whatever else life amounts to, never forget, it sucks in some - sometimes big - parts?"
I think Dad simply didn’t know how to connect … his seeming”panic” over the ketchup… his rigidity or inability to soften even at birthday time…
Obviously his dressings and messages and all he felt was displayed on the pole… all you had to do was understand… step back and look… it’s who he was..
Not pertinent to "Sticks" but in line with the teachings George has been giving us: The current story in The New Yorker called "The Soccer Balls of Mr. Kurz" illustrates escalation, playful narrator, excellent prose and purpose.
Valerie, I'm not sure I would have read this but for your post. Wow. Thank you. I'm sitting here almost in tears, thinking "There is somebody in this world who thought this up"! Amazing.
Haven't, even yet and as I type, caught up with reading this... but I'm already relishing thinking that "somebody, who may even be known by name, thought this up. Wow and wowee!"
I’d been obsessing about this story for years, rolling it around in my head, wondering how something could be so short and complete and wonderful. And finally I get the origin story. Today was a good day :-)
Shortly after 10th of December came out, I met my cousin for brunch. We hadn’t seen each other in several years. I told him I wanted to be a writer. He pulled out your book from his bag, turned to “Sticks,” and said, “Wil, you’re probably not going to make it. But if you want a shot at all, you got to write something like this. I picked this up at the bookstore this morning and randomly read this story, it blew me away.” I told him I was a big fan and had he read “Puppy” yet? No, only “Sticks.” I told him the rest of the collection wasn’t like “Sticks.” “Whatever,” he said. “That’s how you should write.”
Just 349 words, tall order, but did you ever, yet, blurt out @349 words, to your - personal - satisfaction?
C S Lewis wrote a book, which I way back read, it's title is 'Surprised by Joy'. Not my typical, speaking as I write metaphorically, "cup of tea"... but did stop me and, by my firmly authoritative pull back on the reins, my galloping horses at least as long as time needed to pause for thought.
And George recalls writing 'Sticks' as one of three quick dash-offs when I really should be doing what I'm, ostensibly, paid to be doing...
George has ennobled the act of writing at work. I will not feel guilty for changing my status to, “Do not disturb.” By god, I could be writing the next Sticks!
I am always moved when I (re)read Sticks. I think it’s because there is a great deal of space left for empathy. We have a brief depiction of a father who acts in a pretty unconventional way and seemingly ends up lonely and isolated, which makes me really wonder, well, what made him this way? It’s from his son’s perspective so we get none of the father’s interiority, only the son’s experiences. The only hints of the father’s background and his interior state come from the way he decorates the pole, which seems also to be the only way he tries to communicate with the world, including his kids. There is so much sadness in the gulf between what the father seems to want to say and the tools he seems able to use to say it. With so little conveyed about the why, there is a whole world of possibilities that could explain his behaviour- maybe his own father looked down on emotional displays, maybe he is a survivor of trauma of some kind. Whatever the answer is, the imagining of the explanation I think is a process that builds empathy for the father- to devise an explanation for the actions, I can’t help but imagine challenges he must have faced to make him behave that way. The ultimate sadness in the whole thing seems to be that the children weren’t able to bridge that gap of empathy with him.
I work in healthcare. A few years back, I had to write a piece of flash for a narrative medicine class. I had reread Sticks around that time and it got me thinking about the challenges of good communication, understanding, and empathy in healthcare. I wrote a piece of flash with that in mind for class, and later submitted it to a medical literary journal where it was published!
So, thank you, George, for inspiring an assignment/publication I’m still proud of and for building sticks into a perfect compact empathy making machine (for this reader/writer, anyway!).
I really love Sticks. It was one of those stories that stayed with me long after I’d read it and I find myself returning to it often. Very interesting to get this insight into its creation.
Exercises and/or challenges that involve writing under some constraint seem surprisingly good at producing results. You talk here, George, of setting yourself the goal of writing three short-short stories before you left work, and of course there’s the earlier exercise we tried as a group involving the 50-word limit and the 200-word count, which yielded some absolute gems. But I wonder if there are other exercises like these (or resources for finding such exercises) that readers (or you, George) can recommend.
Here is an anecdote in the form of a short-short. A long time ago I was writing a script for an experimental puppet and mask play I was scheduled to perform at an experimental theater. I was completely absorbed in the process. One night I dreamt I was with a man and playing with a silver dog, small as a charm. Sometime later I told a friend about the dream. She suggested I draw the dog. I drew a simple outline of the dog in a notebook. Every so often I’d page through the notebook and see the drawing. One day when I was at the library, browsing in the New Titles section, I saw a small book, and since I like miniatures, I pulled it off the shelf. There, on the cover, was the dog I’d drawn. I checked out the book, Road-side Dog. It was filled with short essays, anecdotes, stories, most of which were no longer than a page. Some were only a few sentences long. I said to myself “I can do this.” Of course, I couldn’t write like the author, Czeslaw Milosz, but was willing to give it a try. I couldn’t help but wonder if the man in the dream was urging me to keep writing after the play closed. I discovered short-shorts are a genre, read collections of short-shorts, even took a class or two about writing stories no more than 500 words long. I began to write short-shorts, and then one day I had an idea for a story that refused to be confined to so few words. The story grew and grew and now has become a series of three books, all because of a small, silver dog charm. The moral of this story is that even a very short story is a means to hone your craft.
I’ve begun to write one page stories, scripts, poems as perhaps a memoir for as fodder for short stories or novella. I love the form, having to cut out 1/3 of the draft to tighten it, clarify and so on.
I think, uncertainly, that something along the lines - invented as I type - that "no great story ever came of passages of prose penned as fodder for another purpose".
If you enjoy, indeed love, cutting a rough third from raw draft why even give a passing nanosecond of your creativity to not fit for purpose notions like "fodder" Donald?
Reminds me of what a friend of mine said when we were at a fresh market. "What else are you hunting for?" I asked after he bought yet another half dozen plants. "It's all about the hunting," he said. 🌷
Surely is David, save the hay from the meadow that was formerly our lawn which I've been cutting back and am in process of recycling by the brown bin-full.
I do think that, like a panda's love for bamboo, my best fresh story shoots are most likely to be green and just sprouted...
Or maybe that's some kind of hope, delusion or, even. literary conceit 🤔?
Such a feeling that story left me with, sad, rueful, complex and incomprehensible like a life. I think one time you said (or someone said) you get hold of a feeling and write it out and in the process a story emerges. You hold onto the feeling like you've got a tiger by the tail and see where it takes you and where it ends up. I think that takes the pressure off writing "the right way" or being a perfectionist. As always, I find such inspiration in Story Club! I m so appreciative, especially now that I have a broken shoulder and am on a forced hiatus. Time to stop doing and start being, absorbing below the intellectual level all you and the other members have to share. Reading Story Club posts and comments feels like a nurturing massage of my hyperactive brain, bringing me back to reality.
Just a sling. Hurts when I move my arm and I am plagued by fears lurking in the background that I might not get back full use of it. It's another reminder that I am not in perfect control, and I hate that! Thank you for commenting. For caring.
I've been there. Hard to imagine daily activities without experience! Now you'll know when your friends have something that disables them! It's a shock. Washing your own hair, opening a big window, picking up a laundry basket, holding the dog with one arm while scooping poop with the other. All the things! Glad you have friends who show up, I like to be that person, too.
I swear! It’s weird how my like intersects with this substack! This always happens to me in Story Club! Tenth of December was on my night stand. I had just read and reread the titled short story the night before. My first reading of it was at least a year or two earlier when I purchased the book! I loved that story and the voice you gave little chubby Robin. So last night I picked up the book again and thumbed through it thinking I’d reread another of your creations. Started “Sticks” and Boom! It was over so fast! Huh, I thought to myself, how’d he do that! I’d call it a short-short-short story. Yet, at the end, my heart was with Dad. Just like it was with Eber in the much more complicated, multi-layered and vernacularly inspired Tenth of December! Wow! Thanks for explaining where you were and whatAnd I’m a subscriber so I can’t wait til the Sunday you take on your own masterpiece!
Story Magazine has been revived. https://www.storymagazine.org/about/
Ah, that's great to know, Jed, thanks!
Yep- I have several Story Magazine issues that came with a contest submission and like it a lot. Have also submitted there 5 times in the last 3 years- without success- but they send a nice form rejection letter inviting to try again.
I just browsed the new incarnation of Story magazine and what struck me is that every contributor had a high pedigree bio, like had published books with higher tier publishers and had all won some heavyweight awards. Thus, it made me suspect the mag is soliciting a lot of work from well established writers more than catering to emerging writers. Now maybe I'm way off here. But I did get that distinct impression. Check out the the contributor bios of a recent issue and see what you think.
Yes, I see what you mean. Their guidelines do not mention emerging authors and they don't read blind. Hard to know how much is solicited. I haven't seen any interviews with their editors.
Oh wait! I did see an interview with the editor of Story, Michael Nye
https://litmagnews.substack.com/p/the-energy-of-a-story-q-and-a-with-207
"We talked about what makes a story right for Story Magazine, what sorts of editorial work Michael will do with a writer, the process of selecting pieces for contests, how to make sense of rejections, what kind of stories Michael would like to see more of and less of, and the amazing feeling of being the first place to publish an incredible new talent. Plus, so much more." quote and interview by Becky Tuch.
Funny you mention Becky Tuch as I am about to watch her interview with Story editor Michael Nye, via her Lit Mag News Roundup. I find it to be an excellent "insider's" perusal of lit mags which features interviews with their lead editors. Well worth the $5/monthly subscription. Thanks for sharing. I think Becky has one of the best Substack things going for literary writers. Although no one can top this one with George . . .
Yes, I don't subscribe but I get her emails and I've watched many of the interviews with editors of lit mags-- most are still free, I think. Yes, helpful and interesting to hear directly from a wide range of editors!
I have also written many stories in the strange sleepless surreal land that is having small adorable children banging on pots and refusing shoes. (I actually did a video about writing in very small spurts, and still getting writing done, here: https://juliefalatko.substack.com/p/writing-in-30-second-spurts)
I don't write short stories, though, I write picture books, which are actually short stories, I guess, but with illustrations, and for kids so there's no cussing or sexytime, but otherwise: the same. You are probably reading a bunch of picture books already. I'm not here to tell you what to write, but there is a satisfying process to writing one page a day of a picture book, in the time it takes you to scribble something down on an index card while the macaroni is boiling. A page of a picture book is a sentence, or a few words. It's pretty fun.
Thanks for posting the video, Julie! I have 3 kids, so this is helpful!
♥️
I too really enjoyed and was inspired by your video, e.g., the sense you were speaking to us during one of those precious short windows and letting yourself just flow with a charming no-frills sincerity.
"Charming no-frills sincerity" is such a huge compliment! Thank you. And the video was absolutely done in a tiny window of space.
Love your video!!
thank you!
It hits me exactly where I live right now, trying to squeeze out ten minutes here and there to refine a line, writing at the speed of slug, but hopefully noticing more of the world than when writing like a breathless marathoner.
I will remind you that squeezing out ten minutes and writing at the speed of a slug is still more than many people manage, and that books and stories get built a word at a time, and in the end no one can tell how fast you wrote something. I'm cheering you on!
Likewise: your kindness and encouragement are priceless; back at you, Julie! (It’s amazing how offspring change one’s life in every way. I had nearly given up on writing, but my son turning two in June 2020 made me think, get back to work already, old fool!)
And for sure it's a minute-by-minute thing. My youngest turned 13 last week, but still there are days where I can't properly form a sentence and all I can do is walk slowly with the dog and pretend I'm thinking about my book but really I'm listening to Fleetwood Mac or something.
I love this. I could have been a great stay-at-home-dad-write-in-bursts-while-the-macaroni-boils. Instead, I toiled away at the deathstar beneath the weight of my conscience.
The deathstar is a different sort of baby, I'm sure. But it still offered moments to write! So that's something. (Also I've never heard AT&T called that, and it's hilarious.)
It is funny. The name came from the globe logo. It looks like the death star after it was blown up.
I figured it out! (Although I appreciate you explaining. 92% of the time, I don't get the reference someone makes.)
That was super helpful. Been struggling with this and running a business to ‘pay the rent/live’.
Oof, Wayne, yes. It's hard. I'm with you.
I think too a lot about Cal Newport (the Deep Work guy) saying that no one asks a firefighter if they got a chance to work on their novel when they were putting out that huge warehouse fire. And so much of parenting is the equivalent of that, the giant fire. You are putting out fires all the time, and if you can manage any creative time at all, you're doing awesome. And also know that the warehouse will not be burning forever.
I can definitely relate to what you said about your writing not seeming to matter until you had children. Only after I had kids did my songs and stories begin to operate at a whole different level. I was no longer a third-party observer of my life, but an active participant with things to lose. I also chuckled about your stealth writing on the clock. Fifteen years ago I wrote an entire novel while working at the death star (what employees call AT&T). Not my most noble moment, but the only way I could keep my soul from drowning in Dilbertland.
I had cancer instead of kids, but I think it had a similar effect. Suddenly I wanted to write truthfully and, well, comedically about my experiences to help other young adults going through the same thing. At the time, the concerns of young adults weren’t really considered. It felt imperative. I’m still involved in advocacy and I’m happy that adolescent and young adult oncology programs and support has grown exponentially (not due to me, but I was happy to be a part of it).
AT&T is the worst. They offer very little in my neighborhood in Chicago. Just lay cable already! (I also worked in telecommunications consulting for a short time before my diagnosis and it was only slightly better working with major account agents. Just slightly). Not a passion job for me, but it was a small office with people I liked.
Cancer will do it. I left my work in dance education shortly after completing treatment and all I want to do is write and write, draw some, write more - pause - write nothing for a spell and "think" about the story that needs to be written, as George said. It changed everything. The medical journey was so lacking in narrative. Everything was fragmented and lacked imagination or anything related to the person or a personal lens. I definitely feel a need to advocate in my own ways, as you mention felt important to you. But interestingly, advocating might come in the form of fiction...though I don't fully know what I mean by this yet.
There is so much mediocre "sick lit" that feels so romanticized or sad for sad's sake. There is definitely a need for better stories that both survivors and humans can relate to without fetishizing the cancer patient or experience. I do mostly essays because I'm not a strong fiction writer. But I would love to read a book or story like that.
It sounds like you have read more than me in the "sick lit" genre. I have mostly been reading literature written by doctors because I found the patient experience to be so complicated and have been trying to understand docs more. Most recent reads have been Invisible Kingdom by Meghan O'Rourke and A History of Present Illness by Anna DeForest. The former is a good read, balanced and well researched, though not specifically about cancer; the latter, brilliant (IMO!); a poet/neurologist's "fictional" account of medical school. What the genre of fiction afforded the author gives me hope that I can write something truly honest.
I work extremely hard to avoid duress^^
death star 😂
I admit that every time GS tells us of his sneaking fiction writing into his work hours I feel gleeful.
1. Sticks is just such a fantastic story. It's one of my favorite stories, ever. One thing--every time I read it, I am stopped in the same place. It's when the narrator says "...found the seeds of meanness blooming also within us." I never see the Dad as mean. I figure (every time) that he's a frugal sort, born of depression-era mentality. Even the one crayon at a time out of the box, or the no ice cream--i see those as quirks. Then the kids grow up and roll their eyes when reminiscing: Dad! Wouldn't even let us have ice cream! But the fact that i "read" the dad this way doesn't interfere with my love for the story. I just feel for the guy. And I love him. His one "concession to glee" is just so fantastic! Have I got it all wrong?
2. Constraints can be god-sends when it comes to getting words on a page.
3. I have never, ever forgotten how tired I was when my kids were small. Maybe i can't actually "feel" it--sort of like the pain of giving birth--but oh yeah, I remember.
4. George, you write that "the big difference between this and [your] “real” writing" is that you gave yourself a time constraint. But hey--Sticks IS your real writing! Just not your usual. I see Sticks as the George underneath the George of your other stories. The George of this world as opposed to the other worlds you like to dive into.
5. Key takeaway: "I’m trusting my subconscious mind."
6. Thank you so much for walking us through the creation of this story! And thank you to the questioner for bringing up Sticks in the first place. I'd say "enjoy those kids of yours" but i used to hate it when people said that to me. I mean, of course i wanted to enjoy them, but not all of it is enjoyable. Some parts suck. (But mostly, it's great, especially in retrospect.)
Hi Mary. I think I'm using "mean" there in the sense of "unwilling to give or share things, especially money; not generous."
yes, I think I got/get that from the story. And I guess it is a kind of meanness--being so ungenerous with one's money. On the other hand, it seems that each time I read the story I give the Dad a break. I just have a hard time labeling his actions as mean, probably because his one concession to glee shows him to be a kind of interesting, sort of fun guy, in his own way. Certainly the kids didn't enjoy his frugality. I like to think they caught themselves when they imitated their old man. And then ponied up for some ice cream. (It must be frustrating, hearing interpretations that you didn't mean. Then again, it comes with the territory. As I've said before: The Road Less Traveled. Frost must be rolling in his grave when he hears the wrong interpretation over and over again.)
This is the most moving part of the story for me.
I'm now the father of three little kids, in addition to being a son. I am now that mean guy--that monster. I am not as mean as this dad, who seems to have belonged to my grandfather's (WWII, Great D) generation. But I'm certainly, in my kids eyes, sometimes mean--just as my dad seemed mean to me.
I try to give my dad a break, and I hope that my kids give me a break. This story gives me a little place to hang the hope that they try to love and understand me as I love them. Thank you.
Parents have to be "mean" at times. And, in normal home situations, kids feel safe when they know boundaries. I'm guessing your kids love and adore you!
I feel the same way about the dad, Mary. I took him to be more fun to the outside world, strangers, other kids, than to his own kids. He couldn't let loose with them. But then in the end he does, using the stick to communicate what he failed to in person. I have sympathy for him. He was only free and loving with and through the stick. And then the stick goes and gets the message across. And seeing it, probably lying on its side in the garbage made me sad for the dad.
"Some parts suck."
They surely do Mary, And, my thought, isn't that what each and every short story George has put into each of his so generously and well framed 'invitations to engage in discussing' seem to be about... "whatever else life amounts to, never forget, it sucks in some - sometimes big - parts?"
ha. You're right!
I think Dad simply didn’t know how to connect … his seeming”panic” over the ketchup… his rigidity or inability to soften even at birthday time…
Obviously his dressings and messages and all he felt was displayed on the pole… all you had to do was understand… step back and look… it’s who he was..
And he died alone.
As do we all, whether "surrounded by family" or not.
Certainly true…
For me the tragedy of the father was that he was alone in life as well.
I teach this story and it is always a winner. Also ‘fiction theory wonk’ is something I’d like on a badge. Thanks George. As always.
Not pertinent to "Sticks" but in line with the teachings George has been giving us: The current story in The New Yorker called "The Soccer Balls of Mr. Kurz" illustrates escalation, playful narrator, excellent prose and purpose.
Valerie, I'm not sure I would have read this but for your post. Wow. Thank you. I'm sitting here almost in tears, thinking "There is somebody in this world who thought this up"! Amazing.
Haven't, even yet and as I type, caught up with reading this... but I'm already relishing thinking that "somebody, who may even be known by name, thought this up. Wow and wowee!"
I hope you love it as I did, Rob!
I’d been obsessing about this story for years, rolling it around in my head, wondering how something could be so short and complete and wonderful. And finally I get the origin story. Today was a good day :-)
Shortly after 10th of December came out, I met my cousin for brunch. We hadn’t seen each other in several years. I told him I wanted to be a writer. He pulled out your book from his bag, turned to “Sticks,” and said, “Wil, you’re probably not going to make it. But if you want a shot at all, you got to write something like this. I picked this up at the bookstore this morning and randomly read this story, it blew me away.” I told him I was a big fan and had he read “Puppy” yet? No, only “Sticks.” I told him the rest of the collection wasn’t like “Sticks.” “Whatever,” he said. “That’s how you should write.”
Your cousin wasn't wrong Wil.
Question is: "did you?"
Just 349 words, tall order, but did you ever, yet, blurt out @349 words, to your - personal - satisfaction?
C S Lewis wrote a book, which I way back read, it's title is 'Surprised by Joy'. Not my typical, speaking as I write metaphorically, "cup of tea"... but did stop me and, by my firmly authoritative pull back on the reins, my galloping horses at least as long as time needed to pause for thought.
And George recalls writing 'Sticks' as one of three quick dash-offs when I really should be doing what I'm, ostensibly, paid to be doing...
Never ever, but also, never desired to try.
But! I have scribbled a couple thousand worders that’d make CS Lewis guffaw.
Nothing so good as a good, full throated guffaw Wil.
George has ennobled the act of writing at work. I will not feel guilty for changing my status to, “Do not disturb.” By god, I could be writing the next Sticks!
I am always moved when I (re)read Sticks. I think it’s because there is a great deal of space left for empathy. We have a brief depiction of a father who acts in a pretty unconventional way and seemingly ends up lonely and isolated, which makes me really wonder, well, what made him this way? It’s from his son’s perspective so we get none of the father’s interiority, only the son’s experiences. The only hints of the father’s background and his interior state come from the way he decorates the pole, which seems also to be the only way he tries to communicate with the world, including his kids. There is so much sadness in the gulf between what the father seems to want to say and the tools he seems able to use to say it. With so little conveyed about the why, there is a whole world of possibilities that could explain his behaviour- maybe his own father looked down on emotional displays, maybe he is a survivor of trauma of some kind. Whatever the answer is, the imagining of the explanation I think is a process that builds empathy for the father- to devise an explanation for the actions, I can’t help but imagine challenges he must have faced to make him behave that way. The ultimate sadness in the whole thing seems to be that the children weren’t able to bridge that gap of empathy with him.
I work in healthcare. A few years back, I had to write a piece of flash for a narrative medicine class. I had reread Sticks around that time and it got me thinking about the challenges of good communication, understanding, and empathy in healthcare. I wrote a piece of flash with that in mind for class, and later submitted it to a medical literary journal where it was published!
So, thank you, George, for inspiring an assignment/publication I’m still proud of and for building sticks into a perfect compact empathy making machine (for this reader/writer, anyway!).
I really love Sticks. It was one of those stories that stayed with me long after I’d read it and I find myself returning to it often. Very interesting to get this insight into its creation.
Exercises and/or challenges that involve writing under some constraint seem surprisingly good at producing results. You talk here, George, of setting yourself the goal of writing three short-short stories before you left work, and of course there’s the earlier exercise we tried as a group involving the 50-word limit and the 200-word count, which yielded some absolute gems. But I wonder if there are other exercises like these (or resources for finding such exercises) that readers (or you, George) can recommend.
The fires are still raging, although we have had a good rain today and it is rather chilly, which is good. Pretty scary!
I can well imagine! Glad to hear of the rain.
Here is an anecdote in the form of a short-short. A long time ago I was writing a script for an experimental puppet and mask play I was scheduled to perform at an experimental theater. I was completely absorbed in the process. One night I dreamt I was with a man and playing with a silver dog, small as a charm. Sometime later I told a friend about the dream. She suggested I draw the dog. I drew a simple outline of the dog in a notebook. Every so often I’d page through the notebook and see the drawing. One day when I was at the library, browsing in the New Titles section, I saw a small book, and since I like miniatures, I pulled it off the shelf. There, on the cover, was the dog I’d drawn. I checked out the book, Road-side Dog. It was filled with short essays, anecdotes, stories, most of which were no longer than a page. Some were only a few sentences long. I said to myself “I can do this.” Of course, I couldn’t write like the author, Czeslaw Milosz, but was willing to give it a try. I couldn’t help but wonder if the man in the dream was urging me to keep writing after the play closed. I discovered short-shorts are a genre, read collections of short-shorts, even took a class or two about writing stories no more than 500 words long. I began to write short-shorts, and then one day I had an idea for a story that refused to be confined to so few words. The story grew and grew and now has become a series of three books, all because of a small, silver dog charm. The moral of this story is that even a very short story is a means to hone your craft.
I’ve begun to write one page stories, scripts, poems as perhaps a memoir for as fodder for short stories or novella. I love the form, having to cut out 1/3 of the draft to tighten it, clarify and so on.
'Fodder'?
Umm.. as the basis of .. fodder
I think, uncertainly, that something along the lines - invented as I type - that "no great story ever came of passages of prose penned as fodder for another purpose".
If you enjoy, indeed love, cutting a rough third from raw draft why even give a passing nanosecond of your creativity to not fit for purpose notions like "fodder" Donald?
Is not everything fodder for something?!?
Reminds me of what a friend of mine said when we were at a fresh market. "What else are you hunting for?" I asked after he bought yet another half dozen plants. "It's all about the hunting," he said. 🌷
Yep, hunting.
The chase is more important than its product? 🥰
Surely is David, save the hay from the meadow that was formerly our lawn which I've been cutting back and am in process of recycling by the brown bin-full.
I do think that, like a panda's love for bamboo, my best fresh story shoots are most likely to be green and just sprouted...
Or maybe that's some kind of hope, delusion or, even. literary conceit 🤔?
But are they not sprouting from the compost of your existence? Are they self-propagating, forming fresh from random electrical fields?
Such a feeling that story left me with, sad, rueful, complex and incomprehensible like a life. I think one time you said (or someone said) you get hold of a feeling and write it out and in the process a story emerges. You hold onto the feeling like you've got a tiger by the tail and see where it takes you and where it ends up. I think that takes the pressure off writing "the right way" or being a perfectionist. As always, I find such inspiration in Story Club! I m so appreciative, especially now that I have a broken shoulder and am on a forced hiatus. Time to stop doing and start being, absorbing below the intellectual level all you and the other members have to share. Reading Story Club posts and comments feels like a nurturing massage of my hyperactive brain, bringing me back to reality.
Ouch! Hope you feel better soon, Cynthia. Do they put on a cast on a broken shoulder? Sling? That must hurt like crazy.
Just a sling. Hurts when I move my arm and I am plagued by fears lurking in the background that I might not get back full use of it. It's another reminder that I am not in perfect control, and I hate that! Thank you for commenting. For caring.
Hope you have a speedy recovery, and that someone can help you to do things around the house.
Thank you. Friends are helping. I didn't realize how much I needed my right hand until I couldn't use it!
I've been there. Hard to imagine daily activities without experience! Now you'll know when your friends have something that disables them! It's a shock. Washing your own hair, opening a big window, picking up a laundry basket, holding the dog with one arm while scooping poop with the other. All the things! Glad you have friends who show up, I like to be that person, too.
Yep. One finger typing with my left hand, can't drive. So much to be grateful for!
I'm wanting to help others more now.
Same.
a broken shoulder! Oh, no! That hurts terribly. I hope your forced hiatus isn't too terribly long and that you can return to your normal life shortly.
Thank you. It is a miracle that someone (you) read my comment. And replied. My recovery is speeding up as I read your comment.
Endorphin-dispersing comments!
I swear! It’s weird how my like intersects with this substack! This always happens to me in Story Club! Tenth of December was on my night stand. I had just read and reread the titled short story the night before. My first reading of it was at least a year or two earlier when I purchased the book! I loved that story and the voice you gave little chubby Robin. So last night I picked up the book again and thumbed through it thinking I’d reread another of your creations. Started “Sticks” and Boom! It was over so fast! Huh, I thought to myself, how’d he do that! I’d call it a short-short-short story. Yet, at the end, my heart was with Dad. Just like it was with Eber in the much more complicated, multi-layered and vernacularly inspired Tenth of December! Wow! Thanks for explaining where you were and whatAnd I’m a subscriber so I can’t wait til the Sunday you take on your own masterpiece!