Jack of All Trades – A Christmas Flash Fiction Story

Recently I decided to try my hand at something new. Up to this point, I have only written short form nonfiction or long form fiction, but when a friend and fellow writer encouraged me to submit a flash fiction story for an online magazine, I decided to give it a shot.

In case you aren’t familiar with the term, flash fiction is loosely defined as a story told in 1,500 words or less, generally under 1,000 words. The guidelines for the publication I was submitting to stipulated the word count should be between 300 and 1,000 words. Mine ended up at 996 words.

The result? My story didn’t get selected this time, but I did learn a few things about writing in the process.

The first thing I learned is that writing flash fiction is easy. When you are used to drafting novels, being able to sit down and type out an entire project in 20-30 minutes feels amazing! You don’t have to spend hours planning out multiple plot points and intersecting characters. You don’t have to go back fifty pages to revise an event or statement that should have tied into your current scene but doesn’t. All you have to do is come up with a character and very basic story and let the words flow.

The second thing I learned is that writing flash fiction is really hard. How in the world are you supposed to give your characters depth and build a relationship with your reader in 1,000 words? And then there’s the problem of cutting precious words. In a form this short, there’s not space for wordy prose that describes the roses and sunsets behind your characters. It is imperative that you get straight to the meat of the story or your flash fiction will meander pointlessly and conclude abruptly. Speaking of the conclusion, it must be satisfying, despite the short amount of time the reader spends with the characters and their story. How exactly does one accomplish that?

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Even though my submission wasn’t selected on this round, my flash fiction career is far from over. I plan to develop this new interest and allow what I’ve learned to cross over into my other forms of writing. Surely my novels would benefit from concise descriptions and immediate, attention-grabbing action. And the experience has given me an appreciation for having space to develop complex plots and characters.

I’m excited to see how this will translate into my current project, and I promise to update you on that at some point. But in the meantime, I’ve decided to share my very first flash fiction story right here, right now. It’s a holiday story, so posting it one week before Christmas seems appropriate. Enjoy!

England, 1802

“I don’t think we have much choice,” Andrew’s father said with a sigh.

“You always have a choice, Richard,” Mother replied. “We can continue to wait. We will find the right girl if we are but patient enough.”

“I’m an old man,” Richard said weakly. “Old and sick. Eleanor, we don’t have time for patience. The ball is the answer.”

Andrew stood in a corner of the dark study watching and listening, knowing he had very little say in the matter at hand – which just happened to be his marriage prospects. Or, more accurately, lack of prospects. An eligible young lord didn’t expect to find himself at a loss for candidates, and yet that was his current predicament.

“Please, let’s just go over the list one more time,” Eleanor pleaded, kneeling at her husband’s feet. Richard dragged a hand wearily down his pale face, but nodded his acquiescence.

“Lady Freya,” she began.

“Too young,” his father promptly replied. Andrew had to agree. Freya was but fourteen.

“What about Lady Grace?”

“Even if you could convince her to come, the girl is so sickly she’d likely not last more than one winter.”

Again, Richard spoke the truth. Grace was sweet, but frail and very attached to her mother. Not a fitting wife for someone who would one day inherit his father’s title and lands.

They ran through more potential candidates, Richard pointing out flaws that could not be overcome for each.

“Lady Amelia, then,” Eleanor tried one final time.

“Too old. She’s nearly forty! Andrew is twenty-two. It wouldn’t be seemly.”

“And you think it would be more seemly to choose a wife from among the village people? A common girl with no breeding, no training as a gentlewoman. How could that possibly result in a suitable mate for our son?”

Andrew could keep quiet no longer. “You are both forgetting a very obvious solution. I could simply marry no one.”

His parents looked at him aghast. They might not be able to agree on whom he should marry, but they were certainly united in their belief that he must marry someone.

“Son, I know this isn’t an ideal situation, but please try to see things from my perspective. I won’t deceive myself into believing I am long for this world, and it would comfort me more than I can say to see you settled. If nothing else, you could consider it a Christmas gift to the both of us.”

Andrew sighed. “Alright, I’ll do it. Arrange your ball and I will choose a bride.”

***

The night was cold, but the brightly lit and festively decorated castle ballroom was comfortably warm. Julia looked about curiously, trying her best to relax and enjoy the party. While it was mandatory that all maidens between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five in the village attend, she held no illusions that Lord Andrew would choose her as his wife. In fact, she hadn’t even caught a glimpse of the young lord. This was but an opportunity to take a break from her chores and enjoy an elaborate Christmas celebration.

“More cake?” a servant balancing a tray offered.

“No, thank you, I’m quite full.” Julia studied him with a flicker of recognition. “Aren’t you the one who greeted the guests at the door? You seem to be a Jack of all trades tonight.”

He grinned at her. “Very observant of you, miss. You can call me Jack, if you like. I just help where I can. Who knows but they’ll have me embroidering linens next.”

Julia laughed, picturing the handsome young man with his broad shoulders bent over an embroidery hoop. “Somehow I don’t believe that would suit you.”

“No?” he acted surprised. “Then perhaps you think I would be a better fit with the milkmaids?”

“Perhaps better there than with the seamstresses,” she smiled. A sudden bump from behind sent her careening forwards, crashing into Jack and knocking his tray to the floor with a clatter. 

“Are you alright, miss?” The serving man seemed genuinely concerned.

Rubbing the elbow she had bumped on his tray, she nodded. “Quite alright. I’m so sorry about the mess, allow me to help you right it.” 

She knelt and began to place the dishes back on the tray, oblivious to the looks she received from the guests around her.

***

Andrew watched the lovely creature before him stoop and tidy the upended platter, admiring the way her straw-colored curls fell over her shoulder. He also took note of the girls around them, all of whom shrank as far away from the commotion as possible, several with noses in the air. Two of the girls closest to them leaned their heads together and one whispered, “Look at her, acting like a common serving girl. Certainly his lordship will not choose her.”

Quickly he knelt and assisted the girl to her feet. “What’s your name, miss?”

“I’m Julia Everett,” she replied. He smiled. The name was as lovely as it’s owner.

“Come with me, Miss Julia,” he said, tucking her hand into his elbow and leading her forward confidently to the front of the room.

“Where are we going, Jack?” she asked, hurrying to keep up. Andrew didn’t answer, just kept moving until he stood before the two raised chairs from which his parents presided over the party.

“I’ve made my choice,” he said, pulling Julia forward. Everyone near enough to hear him gasped, including Julia. He turned to face her and took her hands in his.

“I have spent the evening observing the maidens invited tonight. You were by far the kindest, in fact the only one who humbled herself to speak warmly to a servant. I can think of no better qualities in a wife. Would you consider marrying me this Christmas?”

Understanding dawned on her face and Julia dipped her head with a smile. “I would consider it, my lord. But only if I may continue to call you Jack.”