“When one Source has finished writing a short story one should delete the beginning and the end.”
Fiction writing requires difficult choices. We often fall in love with our own words. Specifically, we cherish our carefully crafted introductions. We also cling to our perfect conclusions. [Transition] However, one of the greatest storytellers in history suggested we destroy them both. Anton Chekhov, the Russian master of the short story, believed in ruthless economy. He argued that writers must cut the edges of their narratives. This advice seems counterintuitive. [Transition] Yet, it contains the secret to powerful storytelling. By removing the start and the finish, we leave only the essential core. This approach respects the reader’s intelligence. [Transition] Furthermore, it creates a more immersive experience. Let us explore why this radical editing technique transforms average stories into masterpieces.
The Origin of the Advice
We trace this wisdom to a specific source. Source Ivan Bunin, a Nobel Prize-winning author, documented the quote. . Bunin knew Chekhov personally. In his memoir, he recalled a conversation about work habits. Chekhov asked Bunin if he wrote a lot. Bunin admitted he did not. [Transition] Consequently, Chekhov scolded him gently. He emphasized the need for constant labor. He believed writers must work without rest.
[Transition] Then, Chekhov offered the crucial insight. He told Bunin to cross out the beginning and the end of his stories. He claimed that writers “lie” most in these sections. This did not mean factual lying. [Transition] Rather, he meant artistic dishonesty. Writers often posture in the beginning. We try too hard to set the mood. [Transition] Similarly, we force the ending to make a point. Chekhov felt these efforts distracted the reader. He believed brevity was the soul of fiction. This conversation highlights Chekhov’s dedication to precision. He did not just preach economy; he practiced it religiously.
Why Beginnings Often Fail
Why did Chekhov target the opening pages? [Transition] Usually, writers use the beginning to “warm up.” We clear our throats on the page. We describe the weather in great detail. We explain the history of the town. [Transition] For example, a writer might spend three pages establishing the setting. This feels necessary to the author. We want the reader to see what we see. [Transition] However, the reader often finds this boring. They want the story to move. They want conflict.
André Maurois, a French biographer, analyzed this tendency. He noted that Chekhov found introductions unnecessary. [Transition] In fact, Maurois cited a Scottish professor with a similar philosophy. This professor refused to read the first page of any student story. He knew it would be weak. He skipped it entirely. [Transition] Therefore, he started reading on page two. He found the story usually began there anyway. This aligns perfectly with Chekhov’s view. The first few pages often contain information the reader can deduce later. [Transition] Thus, cutting them accelerates the narrative. It throws the reader directly into the action.
The Deception of Endings
Endings present a different set of problems. [Transition] Frequently, writers feel a need to summarize. We want to ensure the reader understands the theme. We tie up every loose end. [Transition] As a result, the ending becomes a lecture. We explain the moral of the story. This insults the reader. It suggests they cannot understand the story without help. Chekhov detested this approach. He believed in leaving space for interpretation.
[Transition] Moreover, life rarely provides neat conclusions. Real events do not end with a clear moral lesson. They simply stop. Fiction should reflect this reality. When we explain too much, we kill the story’s resonance. [Transition] Instead, we should end on a high note. We should stop while the emotion is strong. This leaves the reader thinking. It forces them to engage with the text. [Transition] Consequently, the story stays with them longer. A cut ending haunts the reader’s mind. A explained ending fades quickly.
The Concept of Authorial Lying
Maurois introduced an interesting translation of Chekhov’s advice. He used the word “lying” to describe introductions and conclusions. [Transition] Specifically, he claimed these are the places where “we authors do most of our lying.” This is a powerful accusation. What does it mean? It refers to the artificial nature of traditional storytelling structures. [Transition] When we build a slow ramp into a story, we create an artifice. We construct a fake entrance. Real life has no introductions. We enter rooms in the middle of conversations.
[Transition] Likewise, real life has no dramatic fade-outs. Events crash into other events. [Transition] Therefore, traditional beginnings and endings feel false. They feel like writing, not like life. Chekhov wanted to capture life as it is. He wanted to remove the scaffolding of fiction. By cutting the start and finish, the story feels more organic. It feels truthful. [Transition] Indeed, this honesty defines Chekhov’s legacy. He stripped away the decorations to reveal human nature.
Paul Engle and the Iowa Perspective
Paul Engle added another layer to this discussion. He directed the famous Iowa Writers’ Workshop. In 1964, he wrote about Chekhov’s principle. [Transition] Engle observed that young writers try to “place” the story. They build the walls before they bring in the furniture. [Transition] However, the reader cares about the furniture. The reader wants the characters and their interactions. They do not care about the architectural blueprint.
Engle’s analysis supports the “in media res” technique. This Latin phrase means “in the middle of things.” [Transition] For instance, Homer used this technique in the Odyssey. He did not start with Odysseus’s birth. He started in the middle of his journey. Chekhov applied this logic to the short story. He realized that context is overrated. Readers are smart. They can figure out the background from context clues. [Transition] Thus, explicit explanation becomes redundant. The story becomes stronger without it.
Applying the Rule Today
How can modern writers apply this advice? You do not need to be a Russian master to use this tool. [Transition] First, finish your draft completely. Write the beginning and the end if you must. [Transition] Then, look at your first three pages. Can you cut them? try deleting the first chapter. Does the story still make sense? [Transition] Often, you will find the answer is yes. The story becomes faster and more gripping.
[Transition] Next, examine your last few paragraphs. Are you explaining the plot? Are you telling the reader how to feel? [Transition] If so, cut those lines. End on an image. End on a line of dialogue. Trust your reader to understand. [Transition] Furthermore, this practice teaches you discipline. It forces you to value every word. You stop relying on exposition. You start relying on action and subtext. [Transition] Ultimately, this makes you a better writer.
Conclusion
Chekhov’s advice remains timeless. It challenges our instincts. We want to explain. We want to guide the reader. [Transition] However, great fiction requires trust. We must trust the reader to follow us. We must trust the story to stand on its own. [Transition] By deleting the beginning and the end, we remove the fluff. We eliminate the lies. We leave only the truth. This is the essence of the craft. [Transition] Therefore, be brave with your backspace key. Your story will thank you.