Been awhile since I’ve attended the literary vivisection that is my biweekly critique group with something to read. This week, I brought in a 996-word flash fiction piece, written to a story prompt I found online–sorry, but due to the rules of the forum, I can’t post the prompt here.
Anyway, here’s what the gang had to say…
- I was unsatisfied with the working title I gave the story, but at least one reader thought it fit just fine.
- As usual, at least one reader called my story “intriguing.”
- People liked my description of “bad college behavior,” especially in regard to one peculiar substance.
- That certain peculiar substance didn’t click as much for a couple of readers as much as for the rest. They understood how I used it; just didn’t resonate, it seemed.
- Only one reader out of eight seemed completely satisfied with how I ended the piece. Most, even those who understood the implications, still thought the ending could’ve been “stronger” or “more clever.”
A short critique for a short piece. Sometimes, though, I don’t feel I deserve the praise I sometimes get for my flash. Flash seems to cover a multitude of sins, where my writing is concerned. It makes sense–the more I write, the more that can go wrong. But sometimes, I feel like the success–or lack thereof–of my longer pieces is more representative of my current abilities. Oh, well…