The 55 Word Story: Interval Training for Writers

I have a short attention span. My tolerance for overly long fiction has never been high, and it seems to drop as I age.

So I appreciate nanoficiton, microfiction, blink ink...whatever the kids are calling it these days. Many years ago, Saara Myrene Raappana (poet, philosopher, feminist, browncoat) introduced me to a glorious format called the 55-word story.

• The story must be 55 words long. No more, no less.
• The length does not include the title.

That’s it. But this simple structure proved to be a wonderful playground for writing.

It’s hard enough to write a coherent snippet of thought that's precisely 55 words. It’s a lot harder to write a story, with its implied beginning/middle/end. I wrote many, many 55 word stories since then. I didn’t always succeed, in the sense that I wrote a lot of crap. But sometimes, the stories work out.

I still practice this particular form, because (like a sonnet) it offers a fine balance of rules and freedom. I encourage other writers to try it too, because it’s a low-commitment kind of assignment. A few minutes to an hour can net you a decent creation. Not to mention, the multiple rounds of editing and rewriting and thinking about each word will give you the opportunity to hone those writerly skills.

Anyhoo, here’s a few examples of the 55 word stories I written. These selections also happen to honor another lady, Carla Stompanato (socialite, scholar, gourmand, air hockey ringer), who celebrates a birthday today. I often steal other people’s stories and souls for my own purposes, and each of these offerings owes a little something to her.

“Next month will bring the winds of change into your life.”

She read it silently. Far from the joke it always was, this fortune made her heart jump. The cookie knew! Knew she was going to see him next month...just a vacation, just a friend. Hope, wild and dangerous, pounced on her rationality.

Now agonized, she clutches the Magic 8-Ball, wise side down. What if...?

Patsy Cline, patron saint of sorrow and theft.

There is no safe haven, as we found when the halfway house boys broke in three times in three weeks. First raiding the fried chicken from the fridge, they fingered their way through our lives, leaving grease on picture frames and underwear. They stole every CD but Patsy Cline, still spinning in the ignored stereo.

Tourists.

In the piazza of a nameless Italian village, Dorothy noticed a small child kicking at pigeons. When no one came to stop him, she finally ran across the sun baked square, screaming “Areste!” The boy looked up, unfazed. “It’s fun!” he said, then proceeded to chase and kick another bird. Doro fled, denying her citizenship.

Need a nudge to get writing? Try a 55 word story. Remember: make it

exactly

55 words (and the title doesn’t count toward the total). Give yourself a chunk of time and rewrite till it works.

Note: Learn more about the awesome typewriter at the top here.