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Posted: 9 years ago
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Nynaeve thumbnail
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Posted: 8 years ago
#2
Nothing new, just a sort of a note to myself, mostly to ensure that this thread does not get locked😆
This post is for all readers / writers like me who wanted to know what a story would be called based on the number of words:
When Size Matters:
Story Terminology as Determined by Word Count
by Rana Eros

Drabbles are a bit of a hot topic, and I've run across a few debates started by people who don't like them. Now, this is nothing unusual in fandom, there seems to be at least one person who doesn't like any given thing, and I usually just shrug my shoulders and move on. The problem with the drabble debates, however, lies in how people are defining drabbles.

There are those who are using the term drabble to mean any story under 500 words. There is at least one person I have seen use the term to mean any story under 1000 words, and she said she picked up that definition from an actual fic community. Appalling thought, that, since it means yet more people are going to be wandering around with this misconception of what a drabble is. Generally speaking, I try to be an "anything goes in fandom" kinda gal, and just take people's individual definitions in stride. The thing is, let's say you've got someone who declares she doesn't like drabbles, and you get someone who agrees with her, and someone who doesn't, and these two someones start debating with each other, and one or the other of them mentions the 100-word limit, and the original poster pops up and says, "Oh, I define drabble as anything under 500 words." Now both the person who disagreed with her, and the person who agreed with her, are left blinking at her clarification. The debate is completely derailed, and the person who agreed with her often comes back to say, "Oh, well, I actually like quite a few stories in that word limit. I just don't like stories that are exactly 100 words, which is how I define drabble." Instead of a debate on the relative merits of drabbles, you suddenly have a debate on what a drabble is. Except you really don't, because those who were interested in discussing fic of 100 words really aren't interested in discussing whether the term "drabble" actually means fic of 100 words.

Conversely, you can have an original poster who says she doesn't like drabbles, and someone pops up to agree with her, saying, "I just don't like stories under 1000 words. Give me something meatier." The OP replies, "Oh, my favorite story length is 500-1000 words. I just don't like drabbles, I think they're too short to be worth my while." The person who agreed with her says, "But anything under 1000 words is a drabble, so I'm not sure what you're saying you dislike," and again the debate devolves into defining "drabble."

Definitions drift with usage and words take on new meanings, but usually it's because there's not already a perfectly serviceable word that means what the user wants. Well, in the case of stories 500 words and under, there is. In the case of stories 1000 words and under, there is. In the case of stories 17500 words and under, there is, and I'm going to give you those terms now.

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words. It's debatable as to whether or not the title is included (the common definition I've seen allows for one to fifteen extra words for the title), but the limit itself is not debatable. A drabble and a half is exactly 150 words. A double drabble is 200 words, and anything over that really stops being a drabble, but in fandom, any story in increments of 50 words is often still referred to as some permutation of drabble, ie double drabble and a half, triple drabble, triple drabble and a half, quad-drabble, etc. Even in fandom, however, the key is that your word count is exactly on that 50 word increment mark. Otherwise, you are not writing a drabble of any kind.

So what are you writing? Well, in the pro lit world, any story under 500 words is flash fiction. It's a term that used to be widely-used in fandom as well, but I think the influx of fans who didn't first pass through sf lit fandom or come from some other area of the pro lit world has negatively impacted both knowledge and use of the term. So, if you didn't know the term before, here it is. When discussing fic under 500 words that is not exactly 100 words, the term you want is flash fiction. Or even flashfic, or minute fic, or sudden fic, postcard fic, fast fic, quick fic, and a few others. Flashfic is the most common and well-known, but there are a few alternatives. The point is, none of those alternatives are drabble.

Fic that is over 500 words, but under 1000, is generally known as a short short. Some magazines and anthologies actually use short short and flash fiction interchangeably, because of space constraints, but in online fandom, we generally don't have to worry about such things. So, short short.

1000 and over, up to 17500, is a short story. It doesn't matter if it's not as long as you personally prefer, it is still a full-fledged, honest-to-god, bona fide short story. And that's another thing. It seems like a lot of people are just defining drabble as any story that is not as long as their personal preference. No. Just no. Drabble is not a negative term, and your personal preference does not a sound basis for literary terminology make. It's like suddenly deciding to use adverb to mean any word you don't like. Not only are you going to confuse people with your usage, but you're also not doing your stance any favors by coming across as ignorant as to the actual meaning of the word.

So, just to review, 100 words=drabble. 500 words and under=flash fiction. 500-1000 words=short short. 1000-15000 words=short story. At 17500, you've ventured into novella/novelette territory (I've seen it split so that 17500 to 25000 is a novella, and 25000 to 40000 is a novelette. I have also seen it split the other direction. Generally, the two terms are used interchangeably). At 40000, congratulations, you have yourself a novel.

But wait! I hear you cry. What about vignettes? What about chapters? I'm so glad you asked, because now I can answer. A vignette has nothing to do with word count. Customarily, it is under 1000 words, but the significant thing about a vignette is the theme, not the word count. A vignette is meant to give new insight into a character or the relationship between two or more characters. Most vignettes don't involve a lot of action. Some of them also don't involve a lot of dialogue. The important thing is the illumination of character or relationship. That's what a vignette is all about.

As for chapters, they have no impact on how your story is classified by word count. Let me repeat that. Chapters have no impact on how your story is classified by word count. If you write a chaptered story that is under 17500 words, you have written a chaptered short story. You can call it a novel if it makes you feel better, but the word count will not agree with you. Those who classify stories by word count will also not agree with you, and they do indeed have the weight of historical usage and the pro publishing industry behind them. You don't have to care about that, of course, but it's good to be aware of it, so if someone calls your chaptered fic a "short story" in their review, you know it's not an insult. It's a quantitative term, not qualitative.

Just like drabble, come to that.

Oh, and one other thing all of the above are: Real fiction. They're words strung together, telling a fictional story. They may not be fiction you personally like, or consider successful, but they are most assuredly real. Kindly do not confuse the two, as it only muddies the waters of communication further.

While I'm on that subject, I'll make a brief mention of the term "ficlet." It's fandom-specific, from what I've been able to determine, and used interchangeably with both flash fiction and short short, depending on who's using it. It's a term I particularly dislike, since I feel it perpetuates the misconception of fiction under a certain word count as not being "real stories," but it does seem to be in very widespread usage.

There you go, a crash course in literary terms as they apply to story length. You may think me pretentious for laying them out, or wanky, or elitist, or what have you. That's fine. Just keep in mind, another thing I am is right. This post is not a statement of opinion, it is a list of facts. You may not like them, but that makes them no less valid. Here, have some proof: Writer's Market's literary definitions, including short story, novelette, and novella. Novella as defined by the Hugo and Nebula awards committees.Word Smitten's definition of flash fiction. Writing World essay on flash fiction and its various alternate names (note that drabble is not one). A thread post to the question of what flash fiction is, citing various definition links. Compare all of these with these professional definitions of the term drabble.

The link to the original article can be found at: The FanFic Symposium
Edited by Nynaeve - 8 years ago
not.here thumbnail
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Posted: 8 years ago
#3
Just what I was looking for. Thanks!
Nynaeve thumbnail
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Posted: 8 years ago
#4

Originally posted by: Cortana

Just what I was looking for. Thanks!


Glad it was helpful, I have seen tons of stories classified as drabble (and got me thinking as to what exactly a drabble is, when I chanced on this) and this article was very helpful to me. 😊
not.here thumbnail
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Posted: 8 years ago
#5

Originally posted by: Nynaeve


Glad it was helpful, I have seen tons of stories classified as drabble (and got me thinking as to what exactly a drabble is, when I chanced on this) and this article was very helpful to me. 😊


Me too, I was confused by the terms as well.
I think I read your story Journey's end and really liked it.
Nynaeve thumbnail
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Posted: 8 years ago
#6
Okay this is for two reasons - I simply loved it and it would also help keep this thread alive😆

xoFanArtiqzox thumbnail
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Posted: 8 years ago
#7
the title of this thread caught ma attention!!
nice one thnks! 🤣
Nynaeve thumbnail
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Posted: 8 years ago
#8

Originally posted by: xoFanArtiqzox

the title of this thread caught ma attention!!

nice one thnks! 🤣


See, I knew there would be some who would like this title😳😳 - random ramblings, indeed. I use this for all the ramblings which I am prone too.😆😆
Nynaeve thumbnail
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Posted: 8 years ago
#9
I found this story when I was cleaning my Laptop folders. I just love it, even though I cry each time I read it. Now I am posting it here so that I can access it easily.

The Parable of the Canyon



Gwen, always accustomed to having her way, meets with a terrible accident which cripples her for life. When she is in a rebellious and aggressive state, a sky pilot who visits her teaches her the value of gentleness, meekness and acceptance of suffering, which are today considered questionable virtues.



The sky pilot tells her the parable of the canyon. At first, there were no canyons, only the broad, open prairie. The Master of the Prairie one day walked through its tall grasses and asked the Prairie: "Where are your flowers?" The reply was: "Master, I have no seeds".

The Master spoke to the birds. The birds carried seeds of every kind of flower and strewed them far and wide. All summer long the prairie bloomed with crocuses, roses, buffalo beans, crowfoot, wild sunflowers and red lilies. The Master was pleased, but he missed the flowers he loved best - the clematis, the columbine, sweet violets, windflowers, ferns and flowering shrubs.


Once again the Master spoke to the birds. Again they carried all these seeds and strewed them far and wide. But the winds swept fiercely, the sun beat mercilessly. The flowers did not remain. They either flew or withered away.

Then, the Master spoke to the Lightning, who in one swift blow cleft the prairie to the heart. The prairie rocked and groaned for many a day in agony, mourning over its gaping wound. But, the river poured its waters through the cleft and carried down deep black mound. Once again the birds strewed seeds, this time in the canyon. The rough rocks were soon covered with soft mosses and trailing vines. Clematis and columbine grew from every nook. Great elms lifted their huge tops high up into the sunlight. At their feet clustered low cedars and balsams. Violets, windflower and maidenhair bloomed. The canyon became the Master's favourite resting place. The sky pilot said, "love, joy, peace can bloom in the open, but gentleness and meekness grow only in the canyon."

Gwen listened to the story and was quiet.

Wistfully, she said: "There are no flowers in my canyon, only ragged rocks". The sky pilot said gently: "Someday they will bloom. The Master will find them".


Left to ourselves, none of us would like to be cleft and have gaping wounds. But there are, sometimes, strokes of lightning in our lives - the Master's touch. Suddenly, somehow, we are struck by pain, illness, misunderstanding, and ever so often rejection. Our hearts are cleft leaving a gaping canyon. The river of life flows on and keeps filling the canyon. Seeds that would not remain and which we could not retain - of nobility, selflessness, sacrificial love, suddenly take root and blossom. Our hearts become more compassionate and open, inviting birds of every sort carrying seed of every sort. Our canyons are transformed by amazing grace to become home to every tree, shrub and flower. They become the Master's haunt.

Sometimes, the choicest blooms do not grow in protected hot houses. Rather you may find them growing on the roughest and craggiest of terrains.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Pic - downloaded from Google.

Edited by Nynaeve - 8 years ago
Nynaeve thumbnail
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Posted: 8 years ago
#10
Another of my favourite stories, which I want to share😳😳😳

The Gold and Ivory Tablecloth

At Christmas time men and women everywhere gather in their churches to wonder anew at the greatest miracle the world has ever known. But the story I like best to recall was not a miracle " not exactly. It happened to a pastor who was very young but his church was very old.

Once long ago it had flourished. Famous men had preached from its pulpit and prayed before its altar. Rich and poor alike had worshipped there and built it beautifully. Now the good days had passed from the section of town where it stood. But the pastor and his young wife believed in their run-down church. They felt that with paint, hammer, and faith they could get it in shape. Together they went to work. However late in December a severe storm whipped through the river valley and the worst blow fell on the little church " a huge chunk of rain-soaked plaster fell out of the inside wall just behind the altar. Sorrowfully the pastor and his wife swept away the mess but they couldn't hide the ragged hole. The pastor looked at it and had to remind himself quickly, "Thy will be done!" But his wife wept, "Christmas is only two days away!"

That afternoon the dispirited couple attended an auction held for the benefit of a youth group. The auctioneer opened a box and shook out of its folds a handsome gold and ivory lace tablecloth. It was a magnificent item, nearly 15 feet long; but it, too, dated from a long vanished era. Who, today, had any use for such a thing? There were a few half-hearted bids. Then the pastor was seized with what he thought was a great idea. He bid it in for $6.50. He carried the cloth back to the church and tacked it up on the wall behind the altar. It completely hid the hole! And the extraordinary beauty of its shimmering handwork cast a fine, holiday glow over the chancel. It was a great triumph. Happily he went back to preparing his Christmas sermon.

Just before noon on the day of Christmas Eve as the pastor was opening the church, he noticed a woman standing in the cold at the bus stop. "The bus won't be here for 40 minutes!" he called and invited her into the church to get warm. She told him that she had come from the city that morning to be interviewed for a job as governess to the children of one of the wealthy families in town but she had been turned down. A war refugee, her English was imperfect.

The woman sat down in a pew and chafed her hands and rested. After a while she dropped her head and prayed. She looked up as the pastor began to adjust the great gold and ivory cloth across the hole. She rose suddenly and walked up the steps of the chancel. She looked at the tablecloth. The pastor smiled and started to tell her about the storm damage but she didn't seem to listen. She took up a fold of the cloth and rubbed it between her fingers. "It is mine!" she said. "It is my banquet cloth!" She lifted up a corner and showed the surprised pastor that there were initials monogrammed on it. "My husband had the cloth made especially for me in Brussels! There could not be another like it."

For the next few minutes the woman and the pastor talked excitedly together. She explained that she was Viennese and that she and her husband had opposed the Nazis and decided to leave the country. They were advised to go separately. Her husband put her on a train for Switzerland. They planned that he would join her as soon as he could arrange to ship their household goods across the border. She never saw him again. Later she heard that he had died in a concentration camp. "I have always felt that it was my fault " to leave without him," she said. "Perhaps these years of wandering have been my punishment!" The pastor tried to comfort her and urged her to take the cloth with her. She refused. Then she went away.

As the church began to fill on Christmas Eve, it was clear that the cloth was going to be a great success. It had been skilfully designed to look its best by candlelight. After the service, the pastor stood at the doorway. Many people told him that the church looked beautiful. One gentle-faced middle-aged man " he was the local clock-and-watch repairman " looked rather puzzled. "It is strange," he said in his soft accent. "Many years ago my wife " God rest her " and I owned such a cloth. In our home in Vienna, my wife put it on the table" " and here he smiled " "only when the bishop came to dinner."

The pastor suddenly became very excited. He told the jeweller about the woman who had been in church earlier that day. The startled jeweller clutched the pastor's arm. "Can it be? Where does she live?" Together the two got in touch with the family who had interviewed her. Then in the pastor's car they started for the city. And as Christmas Day was born, this man and his wife who had been separated through so many saddened Yule tides were reunited.

To all who hear this story, the joyful purpose of the storm that had knocked a hole in the wall of the church was now quite clear. Of course, people said it was a miracle; but I think you will agree it was the season for it!

Variations:

The Internet-circulated version of this tale adds many additional details not present in the original: the setting is Brooklyn, the tablecloth features an embroidered cross at its centre, the woman identifies the tablecloth by her crocheted initials in one of its corners, the woman mentions that she had made the tablecloth 35 years earlier (which places the story in the mid-1970s), and the account is attributed to a "Pastor Rob Reid."

A January 2011 version circulated by e-mail which begins "The brand new Rabbi and his wife were newly assigned to their first congregation to reopen a Shul in suburban Brooklyn" changes the religion of everyone involved.

Origins: True or not, this is one fabulous story, containing many of the elements that make this glurge so compelling: A lonely couple, separated by that greatest of evils (i.e., the Nazis), each unaware of the other's fate, is brought together again on the holiest of holidays by a man of the cloth. The key to their reunion is an ordinary object that no one else valued, and the chain of events unfolds due to an amazingly serendipitous series of circumstances. If only a storm hadn't knocked a hole in the church wall, if only someone else had bought the tablecloth, if only the woman had not happened to be standing outside the church at just the right moment, if only her long lost husband hadn't coincidentally been a member of that particular church, the couple might never have found each other again. Of course, to those of us who believe in miracles, all of this was no mere coincidence; it was purposefully directed through the actions of a loving God.

What do we know of this tale? It's called "The Gold and Ivory Tablecloth"; it was written by the Rev. Howard C. Schade, pastor of the First Reformed Church in Nyack, New York; it was published in the December 1954 issue of Reader's Digest; and it was anthologized in Alice Gray's Christmas Stories for the Heart in 1998. Since the story is undated, there is no way of telling how long the separated couple reunited by the tablecloth had been apart. The few details contained in the tale seem to indicate that the couple separated sometime after the German annexation of Austria (also known as the Anschluss) in 1938, which means that since their story had been written by 1954, they could not have been split up for more than sixteen years. Certainly sixteen years is a tragically long time to be separated from one's spouse, but if this story had taken place in the 1970s (as presented in the Internet-circulated version), the couple would have been apart for nearly forty years!

As for verifying the truth of this remarkable tale, there's precious little to go on. Its author, the Rev. Schade passed away in 1989 and therefore can't provide additional information, and the story as presented is remarkably devoid of detail for a supposedly "real-life" drama: it includes no dates, no names, no locations " no starting point whatsoever that would prove useful in verifying it. And perhaps the oddest factor of all is that apparently no one other than the Rev. Schade " not another writer, not the pastor who reunited the tragically separated spouses, not the couple themselves " ever chronicled this amazing story or identified its subjects.
Edited by Nynaeve - 8 years ago

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