: Re: Do the following scenes feel like flashbacks? I wrote a short story. One recurring critique is that the flashbacks don't feel like flashbacks, so the readers get confused. The story is about

@YK4692630

Vote Up Vote Down

They don't feel like flashback to me either.
Ice-9 gave you some good options, let me add some more.
How to enter the flashback: there are two opposite ways, "by the hand" and "throwing into deep water". Your approach sits squat in between the two, falling short of either.
First one eases the reader into the flashback slowly, explaining how, when the flashback is entered, bringing the events forth.

Ming sat in his armchair, leaning into the smooth leather. He closed his eyes, and visions of the past came to him unasked. His thoughts wandered towards the events three years ago, that afternoon in the cafe, when he and Ai-Ling became a couple.
It happened naturally. As if they’d been connected since the day they were born. Plus they both had passion for music, so, though their tastes differed

That way the reader is clearly told that a flashback begins. This is good way for reported-speech flashbacks, or like in your case, general/abstract ones, compressing larger periods or telling of facts of the past. It's good when the character tries to recall things, puts a conscious effort to bring the memories forth. These aren't really flash-backs. They are just reminiscences.

For real flashbacks, use "Throwing into deep water". It's more "juicy", draws the reader in, and can be just as clear, but can't be applied everywhere. You start a new section at 1:1 (real time) playback speed, up close to the characters, reporting their activity honestly and without fancy flourishes. The entered scene must clash violently with where you left off, getting the reader to scramble for hooks, where (and when) it is located. Give these hooks. Season, location, maybe date through some subtle means, but keep it entirely disconnected from 'current times'.

The sound of piano brought Ming some bad memories. He looked at his guitar hanging on the wall. A thick layer of dust collected on its surface untouched since Ai-Ling died three years ago.

Several sets of strings for guitar lay spread on the counter. The shopkeeper left Ming with his choice, and began servicing other customer. Ming picked up one of the plastic sleeves - for the fifteenth time in past half hour - and opened it, knocking the string inside with his fingertip, rubbing it with his nail to feel its texture. He'd never spent so much time selecting strings for his guitar before.
"I can help you pick the right strings, if you tell me what you play, and how you play." The voice behind him was female, young, with a little rasp. Ming didn't turn around. Somehow, curiosity passed him by.
"Punk rock. I'm not easy on the guitar. I need new strings way too often."
"Then you will love Muza. They are hard, strong, and they sing with anger. My name's Ai-Ling, by the way." The girl stood next to Ming now, and he turned his head to her. [description follows]

Notice: close detail, literal dialogue, no introductions, no "smooth edges". These are obtrusive reminiscences that come unasked, and push into our minds against our efforts to the contrary, vivid and detailed. That's why they feel 'stronger'. Try this, it's not all that hard. Rough cut, completely disconnected scene transition, only bare background details connecting the two scenes.

(0)

Login to post a comment!