Reality

I've been writing short-short stories for a couple months now. I think my intention was to write vaguely in the style of Nathalie Saurraute; but after re-reading her Tropisms, I realize that my stories are nothing like hers. They actually have a plot. Saurraute aims for stories without plot, characterization or even any recognizable setting. What her stories attempt to capture is something like the nascent movements of conscious thought.

I realize that I'm often attracted to writers who veer away from traditional storytelling. Breton's Nadja, Calvino's Difficult Loves or Mr. Palomar, Russell Edson's extreme fairy tales. But I also love the sweeping slice-of-life novels--like East of Eden or War and Peace.

I guess I like my novels and stories either drenched in reality, or flying high above it. I'm not sure my own stories fall into either category.