Joseph Young’s first book Easter Rabbit (Publishing Genius) will be out 15 December 2009, and I’ve been fortunate to read the pdf version of the the book.

I tried to explain “micro fiction” to my 8-year-old. We’ve started writing together, and she’s very interested in the amount of words on the page. She counts each word on the screen and says “He’s done it.” He’s written a story under 100 words. Our favorite Young piece is called “Girl”:

 

The tadpoles flipped on the brown mud bot- 
tom. She dipped one out and held it near, see- 
ing it in her belly, shaping arms and feet and a 
small, blond head. She set it back and stood, 
breasts out, arms up. The ducks in the weed, 
eyes hard like hungry boys, waited for bread. 
She would call, I hate you, or, I love you, and 
the ducks would scatter. She would do neither. 
The mud sucked her shoes, the minnows 
showed their silver stomachs and rolled away. 

She read it out loud to me. It’s poetic. Each word is so thoughtful, and when I re-read this piece I feel thoughtful, too. In most stories I ask questions, but I don’t with “Girl.” I’m satisfied.

The 8-year-old likes “Girl” because she doesn’t know anything about the “girl.” We are given enough information. She says, “I know this piece is deep. I don’t know why. I just do.”

I think that’s true of micro, and flash in general. The writing has a specific task of making me fall in love in a small amount of time and words.

Here’s another piece from Easter Rabbit called “Where The Woods Is Darkest”: 

The filmmaker forgets his camera. He goes to 
the river instead, ice sliding by in blue sheets. 
On one is a man cooking over a pale fire. Hey, 
says the man, sliding by. By the time this melts, 
I'll be in warmer parts. The filmmaker sells his 
camera. He makes out for the desert, writing 
poems like sun under static. 

Titles make the story. I went through his book and read every title as a long poem. I admire each story individually for the title, because I’ve learned something. I’ve been given a brief glance into the writer, into the story.

For more stories, check out FRiGG.

Of his own work he says, “I think I like to write microfiction most of all because of its pliability, its portability. You can carry it anywhere and it fits together with so many other things so well. It’s a visual language and a sonic one too. It’s a story, space and sound, dense and transparent.”