Flash Classic and Prompt: Thirteen by Tai Dong Huai

Read this memorable micro, “Thirteen”, by Tai Dong Huai, from Issue 8 of SmokeLong Quarterly, published in 2008. Notice how much Tai Dong Huai was able to accomplish in so few words, 75 to be exact. When Tai Dong Huai published this story, microfiction was not often published. Stories of this length were hardly recognized by literary journals.

The key to this heartbreaking story is how much is felt beneath every word. As readers, we feel deeply trusted.

In an interview with the author at SmokeLong, asked about what her own life at 13 was like, Dong Huai said this:

I was pissed-off. I was skinny, had a bad complexion, and spoke with a speech impediment known as a “velopharyngeal inadequacy.” I wanted blond hair and round eyes and a boyfriend. I was painfully sensitive, a perfectionist, an overachiever.

Drawing from childhood experiences is one of the mightiest tools we have as writers. It certainly feels as if the author’s own childhood inspired this piece in some way, and we feel the realness in every spare, lightly stated word.

As for how the author arrived at this story, she offers us this:

I generally start with an image. My challenge is this: how succinct can I be by using this image to transfer an emotion? If I spend sixteen pages telling a reader that I’m really angry today, I’ve given him/her nothing. If I can, in a page or two, make that same person taste the cold, bitter coffee I drink while waiting my turn at the DMV, I’ve made a connection.

So now let’s talk about the nuts and bolts of this 75 word piece. After that, I’ll leave you with a prompt.

Line 1: In the first line, the author sets up the situation so that we’re grounded in what’s happening. Author Steve Almond says that with flash it’s important to be “kind” to the reader, to ground them in the story quickly so they aren’t floundering around— and that’s just what the first line accomplishes.

Line 2: is an action line.. The parents (adoptive parents) take the child to a psychologist. She lets us know they are anxious and upset.

Line 3: offers us a bit of fairly standard dialogue. Exactly what we expect the psychologist to ask the child. Something predictable that we can bristle up against..

Line 4: is where it gets meaty and personal. We learn that the chair feels “too soft” and feel that she’s stuck in it.

Line 5: is a confessional snippet of dialogue. Things are becoming honest between them. The kid is opening up! (Do you see how something has shifted?)

Line 6: A one-line question from the shrink…

And the last 2 lines are pure mastery. With the lightest of brushes, she shows us the heart of the problem. The narrator does not know where she belongs. We don’t know if this is because she is only 13, or if it because she was adopted—but we’re feeling a combination of both. The detached, non-emotional voice is spot on. We feel she is lost.. floating in space, yet stuck in that too-soft chair.

Notice how writing this story in the first person, present tense was crucial to the feeling of being lost.

I’ll be teaching a workshop in the 75-word story, a form I’m fascinated with, very soon (May 31st-June 2nd). Enrolment is still open. Details here.

A prompt from “Thirteen”:

Write a 75-word story in which something unknown consciously is revealed in the very last line. It may be fun to set the story in childhood. Write the story in first person, present tense.

Photo by Zhivko Minkov on Unsplash