A Brief Description On Techniques Of Writing A Short Story

A BRIEF DESCRIPTION ON TECHNIQUES OF WRITING A SHORT STORY

A PAPER BY

DINDA ARTIKA REG. NO: 062202048

UNIVERSITY OF NORTH SUMATERA FACULTY OF LETTERS

DIPLOMA III ENGLISH PROGRAM STUDY MEDAN

2009

Approved by Supervisor

NIP. 131570483

Drs. Yulianus Harefa, MEd TESOL

Submitted to Faculty of Letters, University of North Sumatera

In partial fulfillment of the requirements for DIPLOMA (D-III) in English.

Approved by

Head of Department,

NIP. 130702287

Dra. Syahyar Hanum, DPFE

Approved by the Diploma III English Program Study

Faculty of Letters, University of North Sumatera

Accepted by the Board of Examiner in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the D-III Examination of the Diploma III Program Study, Faculty of Letters,

University of North Sumatera.

The examination is held on the May 18, 2009 Dean,

Drs. Syaifuddin, M.A, Ph.D NIP. 1320981

Board of Supervisor and Reader:

Supervisor : Drs. Yulianus Harefa, MEd TESOL Reader : Drs. Muhizar Muchtar, M.S

AUTHOR’S DECLARATION

I am DINDA ARTIKA, declare that I am the sole of this paper. Except where reference is made in the text of this paper, this paper contains no material published elsewhere or extended in whole or in part from a paper by which I have qualified for or awarded another degree.

No other person’s work has been used without due acknowledgement in the main text of this paper. This paper has not been submitted for the award of another degree in any tertiary education.

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COPYRIGHT DECLARATION

Name : DINDA ARTIKA

Title of Paper: A BRIEF DESCRIPTION ON TECHNIQUES OF WRITING A SHORT STORY

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I am willing that my paper should be available for reproduction at the discretion of the librarian of the Diploma III English Program Faculty of Letters USU on the understanding that users are made aware of their obligation under law of the Republic of Indonesia.

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ABSTRAC

Saya sebagai seorang pecinta karya sastra tentu sangat menginginkan bahwa tidak hanya membaca karya-karya seni orang lain tetapi melainkan suatu saat orang lain dapat membaca karya cipta sastra saya sendiri, namun disamping ini semua saya sering kali mengalami kesulitan dan kendala dalam mengenal teknik penulisan cerpen itu sendiri. Maka untuk hal ini semua saya meninginkan agar tidak hanya saya saja yang mampu memahami dan mendalami dari seluruh informasi-informasi yang saya baca, maka untuk itu saya menjadikan persoalan ini sebagai pembahasan saya dalam kertas karya saya ini. Dalam hal ini saya membahas bagaimana para penulis terkemuka menemukan inspirasi mereka, dan juga komitmen yang merupakan suatu sumber kekuatan inspirasi. Disamping itu juga saya juga membahas mengenai pengertian umum cerpen, karakteristik cerpen, unsur-unsur yang yang terdapat di dalam sebuah cerpen, yang di dalamnya terdapat tema, alur atau plot, penokohan, latar atau setting, sudut pandang tokoh, anatomi cerita pendek dan .dalam penulisan kertas karya ini saya melakukan metode library research dan pencarian melalui internet.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank The Almighty Allah SWT, who has given me health and capability to finish this paper as my last assignment to finish my study at Diploma III English Program Study, Faculty of Letters, University of North Sumatera.

I also would like to thank the Dean of Faculty of Letters, Drs. Syaifuddin, M A, Ph.D and the Head of Diploma III English Program Study, Dra. Syahyar Hanum, DPFE and my Supervisor Drs. Yulianus Harefa, MEd TESOL for his time, patience, and suggestion, I also would like to thank my Reader Drs. Muhizar Muchtar, M. S., for his time and attention.

To my beloved mother Rusilawati, and my beloved father Sunaryo. I would like to express my gratitude for their love, time, material, and supporting during my live. To my sister Yenni, my brother Dian, and my younger sister Sukma, thank you for supporting me in finishing this paper.

To my friend at class B and A of the 2006 academic year who can not be mentioned one by one, thank for our friendship while we are in this Faculty.

In writing this paper, I found many difficulties. Without any helps and support from all parties, this paper would not be completed. Finally, I hope that this paper would be useful for the readers in the future.

Medan,

Reg. No. 062202048 DINDA ARTIKA

TABLE OF CONTENT

AUTHOR’S DECLARATION ... i

COPYRIGHT DECLARATION ... ii

ABSTRACT ... iii

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ... iv

TABLE OF CONTENTS ... v

1. INTRODUCTION 1.1 The Background of the Study ... 1

1.2 The Scope of the Study ... 2

1.3 The Purpose of the Study ... 2

1.4 The Significance of the Study ... 2

1.5 The Method of the Study ... 3

2. STREED UP INSPIRATION ON PEN TIP 2.1. About Inspiration or Ilham ... 4

2.2. Learn from Some Foremost Writer Experience ... 5

2.3. Commitment is the Inspiration Source ... 7

3. TECHNIQUES OF WRITING A SHORT STORY 3.1. General Meaning of a Short Story... 8

3.2. Characteristic of a Short Story ... 11

3.3. Elements of a Short Story ... 12

3.3.1 Theme ... 12

3.3.3 Character ... 15

3.3.4 Setting ... 17

3.3.5 Point of View... 17

3.3.6 Anatomy of Short Story ... 19

3.3.7 Final Stage ... 20

4. THE SHORT STORY ... 23

Father and I (PÄR LAGERKVIST) ... 23

The King of Jazz (DONALD BARTHELME) ... 28

The Lottery Ticket (ANTON CHEKOV) ... 34

5. CONCLUSION AND SUGGESTION 5.1 Conclusion ... 41

5.2 Suggestion ... 41

ABSTRAC

Saya sebagai seorang pecinta karya sastra tentu sangat menginginkan bahwa tidak hanya membaca karya-karya seni orang lain tetapi melainkan suatu saat orang lain dapat membaca karya cipta sastra saya sendiri, namun disamping ini semua saya sering kali mengalami kesulitan dan kendala dalam mengenal teknik penulisan cerpen itu sendiri. Maka untuk hal ini semua saya meninginkan agar tidak hanya saya saja yang mampu memahami dan mendalami dari seluruh informasi-informasi yang saya baca, maka untuk itu saya menjadikan persoalan ini sebagai pembahasan saya dalam kertas karya saya ini. Dalam hal ini saya membahas bagaimana para penulis terkemuka menemukan inspirasi mereka, dan juga komitmen yang merupakan suatu sumber kekuatan inspirasi. Disamping itu juga saya juga membahas mengenai pengertian umum cerpen, karakteristik cerpen, unsur-unsur yang yang terdapat di dalam sebuah cerpen, yang di dalamnya terdapat tema, alur atau plot, penokohan, latar atau setting, sudut pandang tokoh, anatomi cerita pendek dan .dalam penulisan kertas karya ini saya melakukan metode library research dan pencarian melalui internet.

1. INTRODUCTION

1.1The Background of the Study

Every human can write a short story. Being a writer needs a biggest courage, in which powerful sentences and amazing influence existed. Actually, all the work is depend on a set up plan. Relation between plan and writing is very close, because plan, desire, and seriousness which have been created and planed determine the expertise of the human being.

The plan of the desire purpose will influence to the success or not for someone in finishing his work, all of these will influence his final job (in context writing). Without stick to the plan, someone will never success in finishing even simple writing.

Without the correct plan and be awakened seriously, the desire to write very well, and be the best material writer. Composing and writing is very interesting as long as not illiterate, added interested and strong desire whish is not easy breakdown. We can be the best writer. That only basic knowledge required in producing a real piece of writing.

This paper intends to open public curiosity on techniques of writing a short story, until someone who faced difficulties in some writing a short story, can produce his/her literary work.

According to Herfanda the editor of Republika Daily (in Fenomena Ayat-Ayat Cinta, page 250) who said that an, “Everyone who can write literary work or write a paper, actually, has a certain capacity to be a writer.”

Finally, as human has been giving intelligence should be able to do anything that best for us in doing good things, like writing.

1.2The Scope of the Study

Many problems can be faced in writing a short story, but in this paper, I would like to limit the discussion on meaning of a short story and about techniques of writing a short story.

1.3The Purpose of the Study

This paper is writing for some purposes, they are as follows: - To know more about techniques of writing a short story.

- To give more information about techniques of writing a short story. - To inform the readers the effective way in writing a short story.

1.4The Significance of the Study

The findings of this study are expected to be significant to the readers of literature, because someone should have on awareness before writing that is someone should have something to prepare if one wants to be a writer. That is not just to know techniques in writing, remember King (2005, 257) message, “Writing with anything

I expected that the reader will get knowledge, and motivated to have a desire to be a writer.

1.5The Method of The Study

If we want write a paper, we should have the method of writing, so in making his paper, I used two method, they are, the library research and the internet on searching.

2. STREED UP INSPIRATION ON PEN TIP

2.1. About Inspiration or Ilham and Imagination

Inspiration, in Arabic is ilham. Usually, ilham used to mention divine guidance from God which growth in heart. Possible inspiration or ilham means idea which coming from heart, for a writer, inspiration is something which move the heart to make the literary work. Arswendo (2005, 259) define inspiration or ilham as the pen sketch which make the author awakened.

However to show an idea if often be any problem for beginner writer, they are sometimes complain do not stirred up inspiration and idea which often not come.

“I do not think you can write a good short story without having a good story in you,” Whit Burnett (1983, 11) used to tell his class at Columbia University. “I would rather you had something to say with no technique with nothing to say.”

“Something to say” is assuredly of first importance when we presume to demand the attention of a reader: we owe him no less than that. We ask his attention, perhaps an hours out of his life, and even his affection. We perform on the printed page as actors: yet at the same time, without sight or sound, the final interpretation must be the reader’s own. If our story or act, if you will has failed to interest, stimulate, or evoke some responsive emotion, he will not wish to read us again. (Burnett, On Writing The Short Story, 1984, 11)

Besides inspiration or ilham the effective short story come also from the sometimes daring or exaggerated uses of the imagination. Trollope (1982,3) related

how, as a lonely boy, he was necessary. “He writes in An Autobiography, “I was always going about with some castle in the air firmly built within my mind…. For weeks, for months, from year to year, “he would carry on the same task of continuing this imaginary fable. “I learned in this way to maintain interest in a fictitious story, to dwell on a work created [solely] by my own imagination…. I doubt, had it not been for my practice, I should ever have written a book.”

This, for writers of fiction, brings us to an essential which cannot be stressed often enough: the strength of our belief in the story we relate. One must deeply and profoundly believe in the direction of one’s imagination and, while at work, in the story waiting to be told. A writer must practice, to a profound degree, the “suspension of disbelief.” He must not only care about what he is writing, he must believe without question that he is re-creating truth, that the truth of his story is what is must be, and let one be in any doubt about that. And, if one writers as believingly as possible, the story will then ring true for the reader.

And remember Kipling (1981, 8) has said, he will not succeed nor will he be read or long remembered. “When your ‘daemon’ (imagination) is in charge, do not try to think, consciously,” wrote Kipling. “Drift, wait, and Obey.”

2.2. Learn from Some Foremost Writer Experience

The experience from some foremost writer in world prove that ilham can exerted the presence, for example:

- Ernest Hemingway, American letters who won the Noble Prize for

prepared his heart, as successfully, his novel The Old Man and The Sea (1952) brought him the highest critical praise.

- Gerson Pyok, many found his inspiration in the hospital, at the train

station. He did not just stay at home moreover he should slept in station to put his inspiration.

- Gola Gong, he often puts inspiration from the newspaper. He is very

sharp read the news, his novel Kupu-Kupu Pelangi, the idea is get after he read a newspaper about “The drifter child who get first menstruation is to put “mami” to become prostituted.”

- A.A Navis, The Letters from Padang often gets inspiration when he squat

at latrine (WC), he was hemorrhoids just because he often squat at latrine. - Agatha Christie, like to wait inspiration when she submerged in warm

water and shells apple.

- Ali Muakhir, for him, a sheet of newspaper can give inspiration. His

short story Sekeping Logam Cinta is be the first winner in Young Writer Competition, and the idea is he put from a sheet of newspaper.

- And it is another with Habiburrahman El Shirazy, his best novel

Ayat-Ayat Cinta, he gets the inspiration when he stay at the train when he back

from campus.

One must deeply and profoundly believe in the direction of one imagination and while at work, in the short story sating to be told. A writer must practice to a profound degree, the “the suspension of disbelief” Burnett (1983, 3).

But we do not deny, sometimes that inspiration came just like that without must difficulties to way it. Possible when we enjoyed in the afternoon have to sleep, suddenly the inspiration double-bladed paddle to write something. At that time which need is our heart readiness to get that inspiration never neglected, because inspiration or ilham granted of Allah which very expensive.

2.3. Commitment is The Inspiration Source

Commitment in our strong believe in ourselves could extend the commitment for the other persons that is it can be power full in giving an inspiration to write. Is it right M. Fauzil Adhim said in his Dunuia Kata (2005, 265): “if your heart full of heartache, strength of wish could show other persons a commitment which you believe of good deeds, so your mind will alive. The idea springs up and initiative will follow the others. What ever you look, will always give an inspiration in your soul in accordance with what you found, always become an inspiration in your soul in accordance with be your restlessness.”

And also who did not know with W.S Rendra. A letter who just reached 70 years old is know with his poems which is very committed to struggle for his believe. If we are carefully, many master pieces who born from power of commitment, and many work to influence his history.

3. TECHNIQUES OF WRITING A SHORT STORY

3.1. General Meaning of a Short Story

The compact from of the short story requires different writing techniques to the novel. Reading and planning can form a foundation for success. The short story from as we know it today has developed from Greek mythology, Aesop’s fable, Chaucerian contemporary tales, French contes, Italian novellas, and Germany

Novellen , then came the sketches of Washington Irving, the tales of Hawthorne, Poe,

Melville, mark Twain, de Maupassant, Chekhov, and Henry James. In our time we have Ernest Hemingway, Sherwood Anderson, F. Scoott Fitzgerald, Katherine Anne Porter, William Faulkner, Jhon Updike, Jhon Cheever, Flannery O’Connor, Bernard Malamud, Eudora Welty—and there are all those talented new writers whose work vivifies and examines the realities of today. (Burnett, On Writing The Short Story, 1983, 1)

What is the short story? Is it only a truncated and incomplete version of the novel? Or is it a genre, that is, a category of art with a distinctive content, form, and style? This question has occupied a great many thoughtful practitioners of the forms, Frank O’Connor, Sean O’Faolain, H. F. Bates eminent among them. Generally speaking these writers-critics do not think of a story as merely a work that happens to be short, but as a unique literary form, with techniques and effects that cannot be achieved through another medium. What are those effects, those techniques?

One of the most useful answers can from Edgar Allan Poe in 1842 when the short story was in its infancy. He believed that the prose tale stood just below the lyric poem in the hierarchy of literary art. For Poe, the “unity of effect or impression” was of prime importance, but, he, felt, this unity could be obtained only in works that could be read ‘at one sitting’. For Poe, a novel not do have this unity, is incapable of achieving the “immense force derivable from totality” Poe believed the short story is different from the novel, and superior to it. It was not shortness but intensity of impact that Poe the romantic valued most highly

Although Poe’s concern with the effect, particularly the effect he chiefly sought—terror, passion, horror—has had little influence on important writers of the short story, his views on singleness and unity are widely shared.

The short story requires the reader’s utmost attention, a focusing of the mind on each detail in order to realize the final fullness of effect. The short story depends on concreteness, on sensual impression that deliver their meaning without waste. The action of a conventional short story id compressed within a short (usually continuous) time frame and space. The character, few in number, are revealed, not developed, the background and the setting are implied, not rendered, and the short story gets going as quickly as possible. (Stone, Packer, Hoopes. The Short Story 1076, 5)

What is a story? Erskine Caldwell defines it best as “an imaginary tale with a

meaning, interesting enough to hold the reader’s attention, profound enough to express human nature, “It does not matter where the reader’s attention has been directed, so long as it is stimulated and held. Our only concern as reader is, to paraphrase Chekhov, Did it keep you awake? Did it shock? Did it amuse? Did it send

you away feeling you have had an experience more absorbing than any in your own life? Katherine Anne Poerter defines the short story from the perspective of the writer: the short story presents “first a theme, then a point of view; a certain knowledge of human nature and strong feeling about it; and style.” (Burnett, On Writing The Short Story, 1983, 2)

As Elizabeth Bowen has said, the short story’s disadvantage is an “emotional narrowness”. XJ Kennedy told that “a short story is more than a sequence of happenings. A finely wrought short story has the richness and conciseness of an excellent lyric poem. Spontaneous and natural as the finished story may seem, the writer has written it so artfully that there is meaning in even seemingly casual speech and apparently trivial details.

Writing in 1917, Herbert Ellsworth Cory said “the every technique of the short story is pathological, and titillates our nerves in our pathological moments. The short story is the blood kinsman of he quick-lunch, the vaudeville, and the joy ride,” No doubt the short story is one manifestation of the modern speedup, thought Cory’s rather shuddering vision of a world full of “pathological moment” is one that even Kafka might reject. However, he does touch on the short-story writer’s chief difficulty: how to be succinct without being shallow, how to create a single effect without creating a merely transitory one.

Actually, do not have standard meaning about, what is a short story? Every letters have different meaning, H.B Jassin Inhdonesian Paus of Letters, defines “which tell a short story is should have introduction, conflict, and solution.” Hamid in

Meaning of Short Story “a short story is should find from quality, that is how many words: between 500-20.000 words, have a plot, character and impression.”

But according to Aoh, KH “short story is one of variation fiction or fabrication which often told short of prose metaphor.” And the other defines about short story. That means no one exactly, and also is not contradiction one of the others, near all of them is agree on one conclusion, that short story is short fabricated.

3.2. Characteristic of a Short Story

From some books and meaning which suitable for guidelines is opinion from the best of short story writer, Edgar Allan Poe, it is can be guidelines, because theoretically it meet characteristic of scientific and as practice it can to application. His detailed opinion was written by is it M. Diponegoro in his book Yuk Nulis Cerpen

Yuk, as followed.

First, short story should be short, how short? As long as one sitting time when we are waited for a bus or train, beside that, the short story writer not like other novelists, stop his narrative. However the physical characters analyzed or their portraits painted, he cannot take time out to draw a scene. The writer must intimate the setting, imply the complexity, insinuate character, and the reader must infer the rest.

Second, the short story made one effect and unique. According to Poe, oneness mind and action can improve by one line from beginning until the end. In short story. Never have various of digress.

Third, the short story should be limited and compact. Every detail should have an end and a conclusion. Because the making of words and sentences. Because the making of words and sentences as side as possible is a capability that should be possessed by a short story writer.

Fourth, the short story should make his reader confident, that his story is true, not just a fiction. It needs special skills, have concerns in the character, that they are real, as a human being.

Fifth, the short story should give ending conclusion. No more touched. That the story has been ended.

There are three main qualities that mark the short story as clearly different from prose fiction that make it a “genre”. The first quality is, of course brevity. The second is, it power of compensating for the consequences of shortness and the third is, the interaction of one to two.

The beauty of the short story is that all its elements can be drawn to a single point that shines with such brightness that all the past moments of the tale are bathed in light seen as a whole, as a radiance.

3.3. Elements of a Short Story

The elements of a short story are: 3.3.1. Theme

A short expresses the value of a writer and his conception of the human condition. In that sense, the whole story embodies his

But thoughts and feelings that a writer embodies in a story are seldom very simple. Most stories cannot be reduced, like Aesop’s

Fables to a simple moral. A modern short story is not fertile soil in

which to plant a sermon. Chekhov wrote to his editor.

“You upbraid me about objectivity, styling it indifference to good and evil, absence of ideals and ideas, etc. you would have me say, in depicting horse thieves, that stealing horses is an evil. But them, that has been known a long while, even without me. Let jurors judge me them, for my business is only to show them as they are… of course, it would be gratifying to couple art with sermonizing, but, personally, I find this exceedingly difficult and, because of condition imposed b technique, all but impossible.”

Nor can a short story be translated into a philosophic treatise or a sociological tract. Weighty ideas need systematic presentation as free as possible from the mess that is human being. Organized knowledge by its very nature deals in generalities, but fiction deals with the specific person in the specific situation. And sometimes character can take on a life of their own—almost in defiance of their creator’s intention.

Still and all, as Chekhov well knew, serious reader demand more than an accounting of events; they demand that these events in some way illumine their own lives—that events be shaped into a meaning. After the pleasure or pain, excitement or perplexity caused

by the story has receded, the raider if left with a residue, a distillation that we call its theme. (Stone, Packer, Hoopes, The Short Story 1976, 23)

3.3.2. Plot

Plot is essential to fiction as the nerve that runs the length of a caterpillar, directing its exertions and its progress toward its destination. Plot is a means of keeping our characters in motion and holding the reader’s participation to the conclusion of our story. It is also the line on which to hang suspense, curiosity, drama, behavior, and the sense of time’s passing. Without plot, it is unlikely a reader would care very much about following a story thought to the end.

Someone has said that plot shows the writer’s ability to think in several directions at once and thus keep his story moving. It also indicates that the limits of our imagination have been extended beyond the point of known facts and events, which is the short story are justifiably created whole from true happening, but in the telling events, to circle freely around the subjects so that he may use the fiction writer’s privilege to judge characters he knows better than anyone else.

Plot is about many things—character, imagination, irony, logic, and nearly always about the unexpected. Plot frequently surprise

not only the reader, but the author as well. And a good plot is fun for everybody.

What makes a good plot? Most important is consistency and logic in mood and point of view. We do not approach light, inconsequential characters with solemnity unless our purpose is satire, or create a death scene in a mood of hilarity, unless we possess the great gifts of a Mark Twain or a Rossini. Which is not to day that deeper meanings are not to be found in comedies, or that lighter moments are not used sometimes for relief in tragic dramas. It was P. G. Wodehouse, the great humorist, who stated that the plot must determine the mood in which a story is written, not visa versa.

Plots, as said before, may come from memory, from subjective reactions to experiences (indeed, some feeling memory or emotion must be present in any fictional narrative), or from a provocative situation we have been told (gossip again!) or read about. (Burnett, On Writing the Short Story, 1983, 14, 15 and 17)

3.3.3. Character

We engage in characterization almost every day our lives. We tell our family or friends what happened at work or school, who said what, maybe why. Perhaps we mimic a voice or gesture; we may even invent mannerisms to convey what we felt about a person. Yet common

as characterization is, it is one of the mysteries of tale-telling. T. S. Eliot said:

“A ‘living character’ is not necessarily ‘true to life’. It is person whom we can see and hear, whether he be true or false to human nature as we know it. What the creator of character needs is not so much knowledge of motives as keen sensibility; the dramatist need not understand people, but he must be exceptional aware oh them”.

What goes into living character? How does a writer create the breath of life on a page with words? Perhaps w few notions will cast a little light the mystery. All that we have said about point of view touches on character, for the way we seen the character determines the character we see.

Tone also creates character. If the author’s tone is contemptuous or humorous, the reader will likely see the character as contemptible or funny.

Everything about a character defines him and contributes to the impact on us: looks, gesture, attire, social class, words spoken, views held, motives revealed, deeds done or not done. Some writers prefer to tell about their characters.

In collected impression, Elizabeth Bowen says, “Characters must materialize—that is, must have palpable physical reality. They must be not only see-able (visualizable): they must be able to be felt….

Physical personality belongs to action…. Pictures must be in movement. Eye, hand, stature, etc. Must appear, and only appear, in play.”

A character can be reveled in the way others see him and his views of others. Characters in a story are only part of a whole; it is within the whole context that we finally read the story.

3.3.4. Setting

Setting is the place where the action happens can powerfully focus the reader’s expectations. Without it, there would be vagueness, uncertainty.

Most story writers try to reader the setting swiftly, sparsely, or impressionistically, by slipping representative concrete details into other part of the narrative.

3.3.5. Point of View

As we come to read a short story, we usually notice carefully who is telling the story (whether in first or third person) and how the story’s conflicts and characterizations might be affected by this point of view. In reading a play, on the other hand, we are much more likely to transform the writer action into scenes that play out in our minds as they might be acted on stage. (Stanford, 2003, 56)

Some writers believe that the second most important decision they make, after selecting that “idea or memory or mental picture”

Faulker identified as the source of a story, is point of view. Point of view is a term of art which refers to the relationships between the storyteller, the story, and the reader.

Omniscient Point of View

The omniscient narrator is free to bring his own view a into the story.

Direct Observer

Almost the exact opposite of the omniscient is the direct observer.

The disadvantage of this method are obvious. Limited as he is to speech, gesture, action, and setting, the direct observer will find it difficult to render subtly shifting psychological states or o provide a wide range of understanding and feeling. Complexity and subtlety can only suggest.

First-Person Narration

First-person narration can avoid the sprawling quality of omniscience and the narrowness of direct observer. But it has other limitations.

Which this point of view, the reader is told what he knows by a “person” who speaks in his own voice. The reader knows only what that person knows and when he knows it and tells it. The reader cannot

angles the narrator does not provide. He cannot be taken into other minds. But first person has a special authenticity and special vibrancy. The reader feels in touch with a real person who cares about what he is feeling.

Third Person Intimate

Third person intimate provides a double vision. The reader not only observers the main character, he is also intimately involved the character’s feelings and thoughts. This point of views creates tension between what the storyteller and the reader understand and what character knows, between external action and internal reaction, between the grossness of gesture and the refinement of thought between that really is and what the character thinks. Third person intimate can be flexibly adapted to a writer’s intention (Stone, Packer, Hoopes. The Short Story, 1976, 11, 12, 13, 14)

3.3.6. Anatomy of Short Story

After understand defines of short story, characteristic of short and the element of short story, so we should ready to create a short story. Before write it we would knows the anatomy of short story or sometimes it said structure of story. Generally the anatomy of short story, any kinds of point of view, and however a plot should have anatomy, they are is; 1. Situation (the writer opened the story)

3. Affairs of peak 4. Climax

5. Anti climax

Or composition of short story, in the same manner as H. B Jassin could like this:

1. Introduction 2. Conflict 3. Solution

A good short story is which have balance in anatomy and structure of story. First weakness from beginner usually in this structure of story.

3.3.7. Final Stages

Most writers however, do put a story after the first draft, and come back to it later. And sometimes it is better, after the final draft, to still wait a bit until you can read it through with totally impartial eye that comes after some removal. It has been my own experience that one is seldom able to judge one’s own work successfully when it is new and still raw from the paints of birth or glossed with the author’s euphoria at having given birth, perhaps the most ephemeral stage of all. Therefore, it is usually advisable, even essential, to abandon your newborn for forty-eight hours, or for one hundred and fort-forty-eight hours, as thought it were a

trifle with it at this time. Neither embellish nor edit your story until it has had a chance to better, when your own mind and he strength of your critical judgment will have been renewed.

In the next stage, the day, the hour, comes when you will sit down and read your story through without a pen in your hand, trying to see it as though written be someone else. You will have left it alone long enough so that, as Sidney Cox wrote, “You will see not what you felt and thought as the time, but what is now on the paper.”

It is the next stage when you read it again that you will expand those passages needing to be amplified and rework those needing to be improved. You will mark your passage freely, crossing out and throwing away with a clear head and cruel and ruthless disregard, excess verbiage or rhetoric, passages which is should be cut, passages which are not right. Listen to your ears to the dialogue you have written: read it aloud, attach it clearly to a face, a person, and always try to strip it to the essential of character, speech patterns, and development of the plot or situation. Write fresh dialogue if the first seems stilted, or put in new dialogue where there was none before. Fill out you descriptions and developments, or condense where you have been profligate; even, perhaps, add new episodes for emphasis and drama.

Then retype entirely (do not ever follow the amateur’s way of saving scraps of old typescripts and pasting them all together), and read the story again with your first corrections.

Finally, study your story as a whole, as thought you were still another impersonal reader. Ask yourself, does it hang together in logical developments? Are they right? Will the ultimate reader—and—editor— identify with your characters, or at least be so absorbed by their behavior and thought processes as you written them that he takes both your story and your authority seriously?

Also, if we are good, we will find evidence that we are good; and if we are not, well have seen how others managed to succeed; or we can give it up altogether. GOOD LUCK…! (Burnett, 1983, 70, 71, 72)

4. THE SHORT STORY

PÄR LAGERKVIST

FATHER and I

When I was getting on toward ten, I remember, father took me by the hand on Sunday afternoon, as we were to go out into the woods and listen to the birds singing. Waving good-bye to Mother, who had stay at home and get the evening meal, we set off briskly in the warm sunshine. We didn’t make any great to-do about this going to listen to the birds, as though it were something extra special or wonderful; we were sound, sensible people, Father and I, brought up with nature and used to it. There was nothing to make a fuss about. It was just that it was Sunday afternoon and Father was free. We walked along the railway line, where people were not allowed to go as a rule, but Father worked on the railway and so he had a right to. By doing this could get straight into the woods, too, without going a round-about way.

Soon the bird song began and all the rest. There was a twittering of finches and willow warblers, thrushes and sparrows in the bushes, the hum that goes on all around you as soon as you enter a wood. The ground was white with wood anemones , the birches has just come out into leaf, and the spruces had fresh shoots; there were scents on all sides, and underfoot the mousy earth lay steaming in the sun. There was noise and movement everywhere; bumblebees came out of their holes, midges swarmed wherever it was marshy, and birds darted out of the bushes to catch them and the back again as quickly.

All at once a train came rushing along and we had to go down on to go to the embankment. Father hailed the engine driver with two fingers to his Sunday hat and the driver saluted and extended his hand. It all happened quickly; then on we went, taking big strides so as to tread on the sleepers and not in the gravel, which was heavy going and rough and the shoes. The sleepers sweated tar in the heat, everything smelled, grease and meadowsweet, tar and heather by turns. The rails glinted in the sun. On either side of the line were telegraph poles, which sang as you passed them. Yes, it was a lonely day. The sky was quite clear, not a cloud to be seen, and there couldn’t be any, either, on a day like this. From what Father said.

After a while we came to a filed of oats to the right of the line, were a crofter we knew had a clearing. The oats had come up close and even. Father scanned them with an expert eye and I could see he was satisfied. I knew very little about such things, having been born in a town. Then we came to the bright over a stream, which most of the time had no water to speak of but which now was in full spate. We held hands so as not to fall down between the sleepers. After that it is not long before you come to the platelayer’s cottage lying embedded in greenery, apple trees and gooseberry bushes. We called in to see them and were offered milk, and saw their pig and hens and fruit trees in blossom; then we went on. We wanted to get to the river, for it was more beautiful there than anywhere else; there was something special about it, as farther upstream it flowed past where Father had lived as a child. We usually liked to come as far as this before we turned back, and today, too, we got there after a good walk. It was near the next station, but we didn’t go so far. Father just looked to

We stopped by the river, which murmured in the hot sun, broad and friendly. The shady trees hung along the banks and were reflected in the backwater. It was all fresh and light here; a soft breeze was blowing off the small lakes higher up. We climbed down the slope and walked a little way along the bank, Father pointing out the spots for fishing. He had sat here on the stones as a boy, waiting for perch all day long; often there wasn’t even a bite, but it was a blissful life. Now he didn’t have time. We hung about on the bank for a good while, making a noise, pushing out bits of bark for the current to take, throwing pebbles out into the water to see who could throw farthest; we were both gay and cheerful by nature, Father and I. At least we felt tired and that we had had enough, and we set off for home.

It was beginning to get dark. The woods were changed-it wasn’t dark there yet, but almost. We quickened our steps. Mother would be getting anxious and waiting with supper. She was always afraid something was going to happen. But it hadn’t; it had been a lovely day, nothing had happen that shouldn’t. We were content with everything.

The twilight deepened. The trees were so funny. They stood listening to every step we took, as if they didn’t know who we were. Under one of them was a glow-warm. It lay down there in the dark staring at us. I squeezed Father’s hand, but he didn’t see the strange glow, just walked on. Now it was quite dark. We came to the bridge over the stream. It roared down there in the depths, horribly’ as thought it was wanted to swallow us up; the abyss yawned bellow us. We trod carefully on the sleepers, holding each other tightly by the hand so as not to fall in. I thought Father

would carry me across, but he didn’t say anything; he probably wanted me to be like him and think nothing of it.

We went no. Father was so calm as he walked there in the darkness, with even strides, not speaking, thinking to himself. I couldn’t understand how he could be so calm when it was so murky. I looked all around me in fear. Nothing but darkness everywhere. I hardly dared take a deep breath, for then you got so much darkness inside you, and that was dangerous. I thought it meant you would soon die. I remember quite well that’s what I thought then. The embankment slope steeply down, as thought into chasms black as night. The telegraph poles rose, ghostly, to the sky. Inside them was a hollow rumble, as thought someone were talking deep down in the earth and the white porcelain caps sat huddled fearfully together listening to it. It was all horrible. Nothing was right, nothing real; it was all so weird.

Hugging close to Father, I whispered, “Father, why is it so horrible when it’s dark?”

“No, my boy, it’s not horrible,” he said, taking me by the hand. “Yes, Father, it is.”

“No, my child, you mustn’t think that. Not when we know there is a God.” I felt so lonely, forsaken. It was so strange that only I was afraid, not Father, that we didn’t think the same. And the strange that what he said didn’t help me and stop me from being afraid. Not even what he said about God helped me. I thought he was horrible. It was horrible that he was everywhere here in the darkness, down under the trees, in the telegraph poles which rumbled-that must be he-everywhere. And yet

We walked in silence, each with his own thoughts. My heart contracted, as thought the darkness had got in was beginning to squeeze it.

Then, as we were rounding a bend, we suddenly heard a mighty roar behind us! We were awakened out of our thoughts in alarm. Father pulled me down on the embankment, down into the abyss, held me there. Then the train tore past, a black train. All the lights in the carriages were out, and it was going at frantic speed. What shot of train was it? There wasn’t one due now! We gazed at whirled out into the night. It was terrible. The driver stood there in the light of the fire, motionless, his features as though turned to stone. Father didn’t recognize him, didn’t know who he was. The man just stared straight ahead, as though intent on rushing into the darkness, far into the darkness that had no end.

Beside myself with dread, I stood there painting, gazing after furious vision. It was swallowed up by the night. Father took me up on to the line; we hurried home. He said, “Strange, what train was that? And I didn’t recognize the driver.” Then we walked on in silence.

But my whole body was shaking. It was for me, for my sake. I sensed what it mean: it was aguish that was to come, the unknown, all that Father knew nothing about, that he wouldn’t be able to protect me against. That was how this world, this life, would be for me; not like Father’s where everything was secure and certain. It wasn’t a real world, a real life. It just hurtled, blazing, into the darkness that had no end.

DONALD BARTHELME The King of Jazz

Well I’m the king of jazz now, thought Hokie Mokie to himself as he oiled the slide on his trombone. Hasn’t been a ‘bone man been king of jazz for many years. But now that Spicy MacLammermoor, the old king, is dead, I guess I’m it. Maybes I better play a few not of his window here, to reassure myself.

“Wow!” said somebody standing on the sidewalk. “Did you here that?” “I did,” said his companion.

“Can you distinguish or grate homemade American jazz performance, each from the other?”

“Used to could.”

“Then who was the playing?”

“Sounds like Hokie Mokie to me. Those few but perfectly selected notes have the real epiphanic glow.”

“The what?”

“The real epiphanic glow, such as is obtained only by artists of the caliber of Hokie Moike, who’s from Pass Christian, Mississippi. He’s the king of jazz, now that Spicy MacLammermoor is gone.”

Hokie Mokie put his trombone in its trombone case and went to a gig. At the gig everyone fell back before him, bowing.

“Hi Bucky! Hi Boot! Hi Freddie! Hi George! Hi Thad! Hi Roy! Hi Dexter! Hi Jo! Hi Willie! Hi Greens!”

“How ‘bout ‘Smoke?”

“Wow!” every body said. “Did you hear that? Hokie Mokie can just knock a fella out, just the way he pronounces a word. What a intonation on that boy! God Almight!”

“I don’t want to play ‘Smoke’,” somebody said “Would you repeat that, stranger?”

“I don’t want to play ‘Smoke’.’Smoke’ is dull. I don’t like the changes. I refuse to play ‘Smoke,’”

“He refuses to play ‘Smoke’! But Hokie Mokie is the king of jazz and he says ‘Smoke’!”

“Man, you from outa town or something? What do you mean reafuse to play ‘Smoke’?” Who hired you?”

“Oh you’re one of those Japanese cats, eh?” “Yes I’m the top trombone man in all of Japan.”

“Well you’re welcome here until we hear you play. Tell me, is the Tennessee Tea Room still the top jazz place in Tokyo?”

“No, the top jazz place in Tokyo is the Square Box now.”

“That’s nice, O. K., now you gonna play ‘Smoke’ just like Hokie said. You ready, Hokie? O.K., give you four for nothin’. One! Two! Three! Four!”

The two man who had been standing under Hokie’s window had followed him to the club. Now they said:

“Yes, that’s Hoke’s famous ‘English sunrise’ way of playing. Playing with lots of rays coming out of it, some red rays, some blue rays, some green rays, some green steaming from violet center, some olive steaming from violet center—“

“That young Japanese fellow is pretty good, too.”

“Yes, he is pretty good. And he holds his horn in a peculiar way. That’s frequently the mark of the superior player.”

“Bent over like that with his head between his knees—good God, he’s sensational!”

He’s sensational, Hokie thought. Maybe I ought to kill him.

But at the moment somebody came in the door pushing in front of him a four-and-one-half-octave marimba. Yes, it was Fat Man Jones, and he began to play even before he was fully in the door.

“What’re we playing?” “Billie’s Bounce.”

“That’s what I thought it was, what’re we in?” “F.”

“That’s what I thought we were in. Didn’t you use to play with Maryand?” “Yeah I was on the band for a while until I was in the hospital.”

“What for?” “I was tired.”

“What we can add to Hokie’s fantastic playing?” “How ‘bout some rain or stars?”

“You ask him, I’m scared. You don’t fool around with the king of jazz. That young Japanese guy’s pretty good, too,”

“He’s sensational.”

“You think he’s playing in Japanese?” “Well I don’t think it’s English.”

This trombone’s been makin’ my neck green for thirty-five years, Hokie thought. How come I got to stand up to yet another challenge, this late in life?

“Well, Hideo—“ “Yes, Mr. Mokie?”

“You did well on both ‘Smoke” and ‘Billie’s Bounce’, you’re just about as good as me, I regret to say. In fact, I’ve decided you’re better than me. It’s a hideous thing to contemplate, but there it is. I have only been the king of jazz for twenty-four hours, but the unforgiving logic of this art demands we bow to Truth, when we hear it.”

“Maybe you’re mistaken?”

“No, I got ears, I not mistaken. Hideo Yamaguchi is the new king of jazz.” “You want to be king emeritus?”

“No, I’m just going to fold up my horn and steal away. This gig is yours, Hideo. You can pick the next tune.”

“How ‘bout ‘Cream’?”

“O. K., you heard what Hideo said, it’s ‘Cream.’ You ready, Hideo?”

“Hokie, you don’t have to leave. You can play too. Just move a little over to the side there.”

“Thank you, Hideo, that’s very gracious of you. I guess I will play a little, since I’m still here. Sotto voce, of course.”

“Hideo is wonderful on ‘Cream’!” “Yes, I imagine it’s his best tune.”

“What’s that sound coming in from the side there?” “The left.”

“You mean that sound that sounds like the cutting edge of life? That sounds like a herd of musk ox in full flight? That sounds like male walruses diving to the bottom of the sea? That sounds like fumaroles smoking on the slopes of Mt. Katmai? That sounds like the wild turkey walking through the deep, soft forest? That sounds like beavers chewing trees in an Appalachian marsh? That sounds like an oyster fungus growing on an aspen trunk? That sounds like a mule deer wandering a montane of the Sierra Nevada? That sounds like prairie dogs kissing? That sounds like witch grass tumbling or a river meandering? That sounds like coatimundis moving in packs across the face of Arkansass? That sounds like—“

“Good God, it’s Hokie! Even with a cup mute on, he’s blowing Hideo right off the stand!”

“Hideo’s playing on his knees now! Good God, he’s reaching into his belt for a large steel sword—Stop him!”

“Wow! That was the most exciting ‘Cream’ ever played! Is Hideo all right?” “Yes, somebody is getting him a glass of water.”

“Hokie Mokie is the most happening thing there is.”

“Yes, Mr. Hokie sir, I have to admit it, you blew me right off the stand. I see I have many years of work and study before me still.”

“That’s O. K., son. Don’t think a thing about it. It happens to the best of us. Now I want everybody to have a good time because we’re gonna play ‘Flats’ is next.”

“With your permission, sir, I will return to my hotel and pack. I am most grateful for everything I have learned here.”

“That’s O. K., Hideo. Have a nice day. He-he. Now, ‘Flats.’”

ANTON CHEKHOV The Lottery Ticket

Ivan Dmitritch, a middle-class man who lived with his family on an income of twelve hundred a year and was very well satisfied with his lot, sat down on the sofa after supper and begun reading the newspaper.

“I forgot to look at the newspaper today,” his wife to him as she cleared the table. “Look and see whether the list of the drawings is there.”

“Yes it is,” said Ivan Dmitritch: “But, hasn’t your ticket lapsed?” “No, I took the interest on Tuesday.”

“What is the number?” “Series 9,499, number 26.”

“All right . . . we will look . . . 9,499 and 26.”

Ivan Dmitritch had no faith in lottery luck, and would not, as a rule, have consented to look at the list of winning number, but now, as he has nothing else to do and as the newspaper was before his eyes, he passed his finger downwards along the column of numbers. And immediately, as though in mockery of his scepticism, no further than the second line from the top, his eyes was caught by the figure 9,499! Unable to believe his eyes, he hurriedly dropped the paper on his knees without looking to see the number of the ticket, and, just as though some one had given him a douche of cold water, he felt an agreeable chill in the pit of the stomach; tingling and terrible and sweet!

His wife looked at his astonished and panic-stricken face, and realized that he was not joking.

“9,499?” She asked, turning pale and dropping the folded tablecloth on the table.

“Yes, yes . . . it really is there!” “And the number of the ticket?”

“Oh, yes! There’s the number of the ticket too. But stay . . . wait! No, I say! Anyway, the number of our series is there! Anyway, you understand . . .”

Looking at his wife, Ivan Dmitritch gave a broad, senseless smile, like a baby when a bright object is shown it. His wife smile too; it was a pleasant to her as to him that he only mentioned the series, and did not try to find out the number of winning ticket. To torment and tantalize oneself with hopes of possible fortune is so sweet, so thrilling!

“It is our series,” said Ivan Dmitritch, after a long silence. “So there is a probability that we have won. It’s only a probability, but there it is!”

“Well, now look!”

“Wait a little. We have plenty of time to be disappointed. It’s on the second line from the top, so the prize is seventy-five thousand. That’s not money, but power capital! And in a minute I shall look at the list, and there-26! Eh? I say, what if we really have won?”

The husband and wife begun laughing and staring at one another in silence. The possibility of winning bewildered them; they could not have said, could not have dreamed, what they both needed that seventy-five thousand for, what they would buy,

where they would go. They thought only of the figures 9,499 and 75,000 and pictured them in their imagination, while somehow they could not think of the happiness itself which was so possible.

Ivan Dmitritch, holding the paper in his hand, walked several times from corner to corner, and only when he had recovered from the first impression began dreaming a little.

“And if we have won,” he said—“why, it will be a new life, it will be a transformation! The ticket is yours, but if it were mine I should, first of all, of course, spend twenty-five thousand on real property in the shape of an estate; ten thousand on immediate expenses, new furnishing . . . traveling . . . paying debts, and so on . . . the other forty thousand I would put in the bank and get interest on it.”

“Yes, an estate, that would be nice,” said his wife, sitting down and dropping her hands in her lap.

“Somewhere in the Tula or Oryol provinces . . . In the first place we shouldn’t need a summer villa, and besides, it would it would always bring in an income.”

And pictures came crowding on his imagination, each more gracious and poetical then the last. And in all these pictures he saw himself well fed, serene, healthy, felt warm, even hot! Here, after eating a summer soup, cold as ice, he lay on his back on the burning and close to a stream or in the garden under a line-tree . . . It is hot . . . His little boy and girl are crawling about near him , digging in the sand or catching ladybirds in the grass. He dozes sweetly, thinking of nothing, and feeling all over that he need not go to the office today, tomorrow, or the day after. Or tired of

peasants catching fish with a net. When the sunset he takes a towel and soap and saunters to the bathingshed, where he undresses at his leisure, slowly rubs his bare chest with his hands, and goes into the water. And in the water, near the opaque soapy circles, little fish flit to and fro and green water-weeds nod their heads. After bathing there is tea with cream and milk rolls . . . In the evening a walk or vint the neighbors.

“Yes, it would be nice to buy an estate,” said his wife, also dreaming, and from her face it was evident that she was enchanted by her thoughts.

Ivan Dmitritch pictured to himself autumn with its rains, its cold evenings, and its St. Martin’s summer. At that season he would have to take longer walks about the garden and beside the river, so as to get thoroughly chilled, and then drink a big glass of vodka and eat a salted mushroom or a soused cucumber, and then—drink another . . . The children would come running from the kitchen-garden, bringing a carrot and a radish smelling of fresh earth . . . And then, he would lie stretched full length on the sofa, and in leisurely fashion turn over the pages of some illustrated magazine, or, covering his face with it and unbuttoning his waistcoat, give himself up to slumber.

The St. Martin’s summer is followed by cloudy gloomy weather. It rains day and night, the bare trees weep, the wind is damp and cold. The dogs, the horses, the fowls—all are wet, depressed, downcast. There is nowhere to walk; one can’t go out for days together; one has to pace up and down the room, looking despondently at the grey window. It is dreary!

“I should go abroad, you know, Masha,” he said.

And he began thinking how nice it would be in late autumn to go abroad somewhere to the Shout of France . . . to Italy . . . to India!

“I should certainly go abroad too,” his wife said. “But look at the number of the ticket!”

“”Wait, wait! . . .”

He walked about the room and went on thinking. It occurred to him: what if his wife really did go abroad? It is pleasant to travel alone, or in the society of light, careless women who live in the present, and not such as think and talk all the journey about nothing but their children, sigh, and tremble with dismay over every farthing. Ivan Dmitritch imagined his wife in the train with a multitude of parcels, baskets, and bags; she would be sighing over something, complaining that the train made her head ache, that she had spent so much money. . . At the situation he would continually be having to run to boiling water, bread and butter . . . She wouldn’t have dinner because of its being too dear. . .

“She would begrudge me every farthing,” he thought, with a glance at his wife. “The lottery ticket is hers, not mine! Besides, what is the use of her going abroad? What dose she want there? She would shut herself up in the hotel, and not let me out of her sight . . . I know!”

And for the first time in his life his mind dwelt on the fact that his wife had grown elderly and plain, and that she was saturated through and through with the smell of cooking, while he was still young, fresh, and healthy, and might well have

“Of course, all that is still nonsense,” he thought; “but . . . why should she go yet she would go, of course . . . I can fancy . . . In reality it is all one to her, whether it is Naples or Klin. She would only in my way. I should be dependent upon her. I can fancy her, like a regular woman she will lock the money us as soon as she gets it . . . she will look after her relation and grudged me every farthing.”

Ivan Dmitritch thought of her relations. All those wretched brothers and sisters and aunts and uncle would come crawling about as soon as they heard of the whining like beggars, and fawning upon them with oily, hypocritical smiles. Wretched, detestable people! If they were given anything, they would ask for more; while if they were refused, they would swear at them, slander them, and wish them every kind of misfortune.

Ivan Dmitritch remembered his own relation, and their faces, at which he had looked impartially in the past, struck him now as repulsive and hateful.

“They are such reptiles!” he thought.

And his wife’s faced, too, truck him as repulsive and hateful. Anger surged up in his heart against her, and he thought malignantly:

“She knows nothing about money, and so she is stingy. If she won it she would give me a hundred roubles, and put the rest away under lock and keys.”

And he looked at his wife, not with a smile now, but with hatred. She glanced at him too, and also with hatred and anger. She had her own daydreams, her own plans, her own reflection; she understood perfectly well what her husband’s dreams were. She knew who would be the first to try to grab her winnings.

“It’s very nice making daydream at other’s people’s expense!” is what her eyes expressed. “No, don’t you dare!”

Her husband understood her look; hatred began stirring again in his breast, and in order to annoy his wife he glanced quickly, to spite her, at the fourth page on the newspaper and read out triumphantly:

“Series 9,499, number 46! Not 26!”

Hatred and both disappeared at once and it begun immediately to seem to Ivan Dmitritch and his wife that their rooms were dark and small and lowpitched, that the supper they had been eating was not doing them good, but laying heavy on their stomachs, that the evenings were long and wearisome . . .

“What the devil’s the meaning of it?” said Ivan Dmitritch, beginning to be ill-humored . “Wherever one steps there are bits of paper under one’s feet, crumbs, husks. The rooms are never swept! One is simply forced to go out. Damnation take my soul entirely! I shall go and hang myself on the first aspen-tree!”

5. CONCLUSION AND SUGGESTION

5.1 Conclusion

After making a brief description on techniques of writing a short story, finally it could be concluded that:

- Techniques of writing a short story is very important to know if we want to create a story.

- If we want to be a good and success writer, we should not know the elements of a short story, and also we should know its anatomy.

- And then strong desire which is not easy to be justified.

5.2 Suggestion

How do I know I am a writer? This question is often asked by those of us who talk and write as well as giving a lecture on the short story. What characteristics are most essential to those of us wish to succeed?

As in any art from, the quick answer is relatively easy. You have the desire. The talent. You are willing to practice. You add to these, persistence; stubbornness in the face of rejection; the habit of self criticism, and faith in yourself, in equal parts. And always you will remember that if a writer withholds his vital self, ignores the promptings of his own unique “daemon”, as Rudyard Kipling has said, he will not succeed nor will he be read or long remembered, “When daemon is in charge, do no try to think, consciously,” wrote Kipling. “Drift, wait and obey.”

But not too long a drift. Not too patient a wait. And be quick to obey your daemon the moment he first most forcefully raises up his head.

REFERENCES

Bonazza, Blaze O, Emil Roy, and Sandra Roy, 1982. Studies in Fiction enlarge third

edition, New York: Harper and Row Publisher.

Burnett, Hallie, 1983. On Writing the Short Story, New York: Barnes & Noble Books.

El Shirazy, Anif Sirsaeba, 2007. Fenomena Ayat-Ayat Cinta, Jakarta: Republika. Kennedy, X J, 1991. An Introduction of Fiction, Poetry, and Drama fifth edition,

New York: Harper Collins Publisher.

Mills, Nicolaus, 1972. Comparisons a Short Story Anthology, New York: Mc GRAW-HILL BOOK COMPANY.

Novakovincin, Josip, 2003. Berguru kepada Sastrawa Dunia, Bandung: Kaifa.

Stanford, Judith A, 2003. Responding to Literature Stories, Poems, Plays, and Essays

fourth edition, New York: Mc GRAW-HILL BOOK COMPANY.

Stone, Willferd, Nancy Huddleston Packer, and Robert Hoopes, 1976. The Short

Story an Introduction, New York: Mc GRAW-HILL BOOK COMPANY.

Sumardjo, Jacob, 2004. Catatan Kecil Tentang Menulis Cerpen, Yogyakarta: Pustaka Pelajar.

“I should go abroad, you know, Masha,” he said.

And he began thinking how nice it would be in late autumn to go abroad somewhere to the Shout of France . . . to Italy . . . to India!

“I should certainly go abroad too,” his wife said. “But look at the number of the ticket!”

“”Wait, wait! . . .”

He walked about the room and went on thinking. It occurred to him: what if his wife really did go abroad? It is pleasant to travel alone, or in the society of light, careless women who live in the present, and not such as think and talk all the journey about nothing but their children, sigh, and tremble with dismay over every farthing. Ivan Dmitritch imagined his wife in the train with a multitude of parcels, baskets, and bags; she would be sighing over something, complaining that the train made her head ache, that she had spent so much money. . . At the situation he would continually be having to run to boiling water, bread and butter . . . She wouldn’t have dinner because of its being too dear. . .

“She would begrudge me every farthing,” he thought, with a glance at his wife. “The lottery ticket is hers, not mine! Besides, what is the use of her going abroad? What dose she want there? She would shut herself up in the hotel, and not let me out of her sight . . . I know!”

And for the first time in his life his mind dwelt on the fact that his wife had grown elderly and plain, and that she was saturated through and through with the smell of cooking, while he was still young, fresh, and healthy, and might well have

“Of course, all that is still nonsense,” he thought; “but . . . why should she go yet she would go, of course . . . I can fancy . . . In reality it is all one to her, whether it is Naples or Klin. She would only in my way. I should be dependent upon her. I can fancy her, like a regular woman she will lock the money us as soon as she gets it . . . she will look after her relation and grudged me every farthing.”

Ivan Dmitritch thought of her relations. All those wretched brothers and sisters and aunts and uncle would come crawling about as soon as they heard of the whining like beggars, and fawning upon them with oily, hypocritical smiles. Wretched, detestable people! If they were given anything, they would ask for more; while if they were refused, they would swear at them, slander them, and wish them every kind of misfortune.

Ivan Dmitritch remembered his own relation, and their faces, at which he had looked impartially in the past, struck him now as repulsive and hateful.

“They are such reptiles!” he thought.

And his wife’s faced, too, truck him as repulsive and hateful. Anger surged up in his heart against her, and he thought malignantly:

“She knows nothing about money, and so she is stingy. If she won it she would give me a hundred roubles, and put the rest away under lock and keys.”

“It’s very nice making daydream at other’s people’s expense!” is what her eyes expressed. “No, don’t you dare!”

Her husband understood her look; hatred began stirring again in his breast, and in order to annoy his wife he glanced quickly, to spite her, at the fourth page on the newspaper and read out triumphantly:

“Series 9,499, number 46! Not 26!”

Hatred and both disappeared at once and it begun immediately to seem to Ivan Dmitritch and his wife that their rooms were dark and small and lowpitched, that the supper they had been eating was not doing them good, but laying heavy on their stomachs, that the evenings were long and wearisome . . .

“What the devil’s the meaning of it?” said Ivan Dmitritch, beginning to be ill-humored . “Wherever one steps there are bits of paper under one’s feet, crumbs, husks. The rooms are never swept! One is simply forced to go out. Damnation take my soul entirely! I shall go and hang myself on the first aspen-tree!”

5. CONCLUSION AND SUGGESTION

5.1 Conclusion

After making a brief description on techniques of writing a short story, finally it could be concluded that:

- Techniques of writing a short story is very important to know if we want to create a story.

- If we want to be a good and success writer, we should not know the elements of a short story, and also we should know its anatomy.

- And then strong desire which is not easy to be justified.

5.2 Suggestion

How do I know I am a writer? This question is often asked by those of us who talk and write as well as giving a lecture on the short story. What characteristics are most essential to those of us wish to succeed?

As in any art from, the quick answer is relatively easy. You have the desire. The talent. You are willing to practice. You add to these, persistence; stubbornness in the face of rejection; the habit of self criticism, and faith in yourself, in equal parts.

But not too long a drift. Not too patient a wait. And be quick to obey your daemon the moment he first most forcefully raises up his head.

REFERENCES

Bonazza, Blaze O, Emil Roy, and Sandra Roy, 1982. Studies in Fiction enlarge third edition, New York: Harper and Row Publisher.

Burnett, Hallie, 1983. On Writing the Short Story, New York: Barnes & Noble Books.

El Shirazy, Anif Sirsaeba, 2007. Fenomena Ayat-Ayat Cinta, Jakarta: Republika. Kennedy, X J, 1991. An Introduction of Fiction, Poetry, and Drama fifth edition,

New York: Harper Collins Publisher.

Mills, Nicolaus, 1972. Comparisons a Short Story Anthology, New York: Mc GRAW-HILL BOOK COMPANY.

Novakovincin, Josip, 2003. Berguru kepada Sastrawa Dunia, Bandung: Kaifa.

Stanford, Judith A, 2003. Responding to Literature Stories, Poems, Plays, and Essays fourth edition, New York: Mc GRAW-HILL BOOK COMPANY.

Stone, Willferd, Nancy Huddleston Packer, and Robert Hoopes, 1976. The Short Story an Introduction, New York: Mc GRAW-HILL BOOK COMPANY. Sumardjo, Jacob, 2004. Catatan Kecil Tentang Menulis Cerpen, Yogyakarta: Pustaka