I often think about Daphne du Maurier’s short story “The Birds.” Whenever I see a flock outside, I am reminded of the story and wonder if today is the day they’ve chosen to eat us. Thanks, Daphne du Maurier.
This gripping shift from the ordinary to the unexpected is something that I am looking for in fiction submissions to Blue Mesa Review. One of the first questions I ask of a piece (and return to often) is, “Why today?” Why has the writer chosen this moment to be the spark of the narrative?
Imagine if the first twenty pages of “The Birds” were instead a detailed account of the last year of Nat’s life and all the days in which the birds were just birds. Perhaps this could work for a novel, but I think shorter forms demand that we move quickly away from the ordinary. The magic of the story lives in the speculation and the becoming of something unexpected. I think efficient pacing can also serve this pursuit and the larger narrative of a story. The birds attack based on the tides. We know the logic, and we know how much time will pass between major events.
As I read, I also consider the relationship between the length of the work and the completeness of the narrative. Is the story fifteen pages because it has deliberately chosen a slower pace and unfolding, or is there something else going on? Are there large chunks of backstory that feel disconnected from the present narrative? Please do not leave your backstory unattended! It is also important to mention the efficiency of language. One of my favorite things is when I can’t help but smile because of how intentionally the writer is playing with word choice, organization, and sound. Think of Garielle Lutz’s lecture, “The Sentence is a Lonely Place.”
So, we’ve got something unexpected and know why today is the day, we’ve got our tension and efficient pacing, and we’ve got our intentional language; now we need an ending. I will admit that I can be picky about these. I like it when a story leaves the door ajar. Not closed and deadbolted. Not flung wide open to the wind.
We don’t know if Nat and his family survive. I mean, probably not, but maybe so. It certainly would have felt more final to show Nat being killed. But then maybe all we’d need would be a one-sentence story. Birds kill everybody, the end.
Something I keep in mind when thinking about this balance is whether or not I can imagine this character or this world existing or carrying on in some way. I think when the ending is too tight, the characters die with the story. I start to wonder if they were ever alive at all. If it is easy to fully shut the door on the challenges the characters faced, was the conflict all that formidable?
I want to close out with a few notes regarding content. I am open to work that explores difficult and dark subject matter. However, it is important to me that this intensity feels integral to the story’s narrative. There are some graphic descriptions in “The Birds” because it is the direction that the story needs to go, not because writing has to be dark to be “real” or to be taken seriously. I am not interested in writing generated by AI or that discriminates against and/or degrades any human beings. Finally, I am excited to read fiction of all genres. The execution of language, conflict, and character development is critical across the board.
I know my focus has been on “The Birds,” but I will also include a list below of some of my other favorite short stories to help further speak to what I will be looking to publish in the upcoming issue of Blue Mesa Review. Best of luck, and I look forward to reading your work!
“Who Will Greet You at Home” by Lesley Nneka Arimah
“St. Lucy’s Home for Girl’s Raised by Wolves” by Karen Russell
“A Temporary Matter” by Jhumpa Lahiri
“The Husband Stitch” by Carmen Maria Machado
“Heads-All-Smashed-In” by Stephen Graham Jones
