Old Stories, Stories With Moral Weight
Recently I've had the chance to reminisce over old stories, works I wrote almost two, maybe even three years ago. As any writer can attest, even months-old writing looks putrid and flat on the page. Now imagine coming back to a work that's several years old. All your old ticks, flaws, and tendencies are there, full-fledged, screaming at the top of their lungs.
Conversely, when I read decades old work, I'm actually surprised that even back then, I verged on my current style. For example, my word economy in exposition was atrocious, so was my POV (point of view) and I was WAY in love with adverbs and dialogue tags, but the dialogue itself was pretty good for how young I was.
The other day I received edits back for a short story I placed in an anthology awhile ago. At this point, that's something I'm used to; in fact, it's become a mark of a quality publication. However, the story's place in my "lexicon", if you will, is crucial - it's pre-Borderlands Writers BootCamp, (those of you who've been or heard know what I mean by that), but not only that - very early in my MA, and pre-Hiram Grange, which was like a year of workshop rolled into one work.
I opened the document, and I'd like to say I was shocked by all my mistakes, but that would be putting it mildly. What I did was slam the laptop shut and run screaming for my literary mommy. (Not sure who that would be. Maybe Rob Dunbar or Kelli Dunlap would qualify). I'm immensely grateful said editor was willing to take it in the first place.
Now obviously, I'm going to print it out and do the edits. I'm a writer. I want to be published. I like cash, too. Also, I figure it will be good for me. I've become happy with the state of my craft, but I believe I should never be content. Going over this early story will help with that.
On the other hand, there are old stories that are fun to read, and even though the glaring mistakes still jump out, we like the story so much we can't wait to get a chance to edit in all we've learned since writing it. A few weeks ago I had the chance to read my very first published/paid-for work ever, a novelette entitled "The Way Station", which bagged Editor's Choice Honors for the first edition of Coach's Midnight Diner.
It's about two years old, and the word economy is not so great, there's POV issues, and too many dialogue tags. People, however, still really like it. So do I; I just want to give it a good brushing up, chop out maybe 2,000 - 3,000 words. Still, it has what I believe is a defining element in my work: a moral core. Not a religious one, mind you, but a thoughtful comment on the human existence/experience/condition.
For me, that's what makes a story worth writing and reading, genre irregardless - be it cyberpunk, horror, fantasy, or something as out of the box as Hiram Grange - a comment on the human experience. I don't have any pretensions of being literary myself, but over the course of my teaching career, many students have asked, "What makes a work literary"?
"A lot of things," I always reply, "but in the end the most important aspect: that it makes a significant, insightful comment on the human condition, one lots of folks can relate to."
Using my definition, a lot more works can be considered literary, I suppose. There are other things to consider, too...things like artful craft, a definitive voice and complexity of plot and structure, cultural significance...but that's why most of us take the time to read, right? Because we find resonance in those stories, because they say something about this terrible/awful/wonderful/confusing/beautiful thing called humanity.
As long as I can write things like that, in a way that satisfies me artistically, touches people, and garners respect in the industry...then I'll feel like I've actually done something, here.