Flash Fiction, Button Style

hSomewhere–maybe in the back of a drawer, in your grandmother’s sewing box, or on your favorite piece of clothing–you have a button with a story waiting to be told.   A button that’s slightly mysterious … or surprisingly beautiful.  A button that has an intricate design, a silly shape, a perfectly smooth surface.

If you’re wondering what story your button might tell, you’re in luck.  I’m happy to introduce a new blog feature called Flash Fiction, Button Style.

Flash fiction is a relatively new genre of writing that emphasizes brevity.  I like to think of it as a bridge between poetry and fiction—every word is chosen carefully, the overall rhythm has heightened  importance, and the final sense of the writing carries more weight than its individual components.   In Flash Fiction, Button Style, each short piece of writing will tell one individual button’s story.

Send a jpeg image of your unique button to ej@elizabethjennings.com, and I will write a flash fiction story to accompany it.  Each story will be 250 words or less.  To accentuate the genre’s admiration of suddenness and spontaneity, I am also limiting the time spent on each story to one hour or less.   While the pieces may lack perfection and polish, I hope their immediacy gives them freshness and intimacy.

My initial plan is to publish one  button story a month, roughly every other blog post.  Since my other posts tend to be more rambling in nature, I hope this variety of styles will work out well and satisfy both button lovers and word/idea/fiction lovers.   I hope to have the first button story appear in this space by February 10, 2013.

Until otherwise noted, button pictures and stories will be published in the order received.  I will acknowledge receipt of images and will give attribution for the buttons with first name and last initial.  If you prefer to use a fictional name, that is fine with me.

I hope you think this is as much fun as I do.

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Solstice

To all who wander in here to read my first blog entry: Greetings!

I am writing this on the eve of the Winter Solstice–the first day of winter.  Unlike many creatures, I like winter, at least winter in North Carolina.  Once the holidays make their exit, winter is a slower, quieter time of year and I find it to be the best time for writing.

Winter is a perfect time for reading, too.  Each Christmas, our family retrieves a huge pile of books from the attic, little treats to enjoy when it’s cold outside.  Of course we have the golden chestnuts–the Grinch, Scrooge, St. Nick, Clara–but there are other lesser known books and lesser known characters I’ve grown to love as well.  I am especially intrigued by how various writers describe the dance of light and darkness, of merriment and solemnity, of warmth and cold, of the fragility and resilience of life that comes so close to our conscious minds this time of year.

So for this, my first hurried blog written in the mad rush before Christmas, I give to you a few favorite quotes:

“There wasn’t a flake of snow in the sky.  But the sky was dark and low, and there was the dark smell of winter air before snow.  And then, click, the street lights clicked on all over town  And as the heavens turned dark beyond the window, one by one, the snowflakes began to fall out of the sky.”

Margaret Wise Brown,  A Pussycat’s Christmas

***

“Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steady falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.”

Dylan Thomas, A Child’s Christmas in Wales

***

“Time is a little girl who leans her lovely face into yours and pulls you laughing through the backstreets and boulevards and in and out of windows of not quite forever, and, someday, when she’s tired of her play, she lets go of your hand.”

Jessica Radcliffe, Time Is a Little Girl

***

“Oh my!  It’s fruitcake weather, Buddy.”

Truman Capote, A Christmas Memory

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