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A novel rid of the boring bits? An abridged tale? A narrative poem? Squashed fiction?

The short story has traditionally suffered from much confusion - much of it published - as to what it actually is. You'd think it would be pretty easy to figure out. It's a story that's short. The End. Or is it? Why is it short? Why doesn't something else happen after the final scene that leads on to another plot point and to more characters that complicate things and bring us to an ending some 100,000 words later? Is the short story deficient in something? Does the short story writer have less to say than, say, a screenwriter or novelist? Is it just a glorified scene?

I recently had the good fortunate to meet with Ra Page, editor of Comma Press, an independent publisher with a particular interest in the short story. He described the short story format in terms of what he calls the 'light bulb moment', or the revelation or shift that occurs at the end of the short story. This is where the short story diverges from the novel: loose ends can stay loose. Ambiguities that a novelist might baulk at can thrash their way right to the final full stop. Because in the short story, it's all about yanking the rug from under the reader's feet.

On the website www.shortstory.org.uk, Page puts it another way: 'Short stories excel through the things they don't tell you, the gaps in information; the darkness that bookends them so narrowly, making what you do get more vivid.' There are many examples of short stories that take this ethos to extremes, with interesting effects: Gerard Woodward's short story, 'A Tray of Ice-Cubes', tells the story of a 40-something bus driver who decides he's pregnant. Following an account of his 'labour', the story ends with his wife leaving out a tray of ice cubes overnight and finding, the next morning, a 'trembling, lively, blood-warm tray of water'. It's an ending that forces the reader to re-read or reflect upon the preceding story with acute attention to plot, characterization, and language, and it's the insights that come from this reflective reading that create the 'light bulb' moment that Page talks about. I can't think of a more engaging way to read.

So, for the avid reader, the short story might be a format to think about next time you opt for the latest Richard & Judy prompt. There's an argument that the short story is more fitted for the Twitter generation, but I don't think it's all about length: it's about the kind of reading experience that a good short story can offer, asking a little bit more of the reader and giving a little bit more in its interactive mode of storytelling. Or in other words: poetry, without a sonnet in sight.

Which reminds me: Biscuit Publishing have £1000 for grabs for the best short story under 750 words. Get cracking.

Image credit: NixieMichelle