Hi Digby,

This is obviously a metaphor for something - that escapes me completely. It could be one of those fairy stories for children but the language is too high. It is so lacking in verisimilitude that no adult could read this without shaking his head in bewilderment.

What is the point of writing a story so far from human experience? The man could not have lived so long in a hole. If you want to make a point, you don't make it - at least not for me.

Why mention a revolution (which one) if you have no intention of using it?

Why mention uncles and cousins if they are no part of the story?

How is it that the uncles and cousins didn't start digging before telling the man about the buried treasure? If they were simply having him on, why would they want to do that to a nephew or cousin? What had he done to them?

When he gets deeper, how can he tip the dirt out of the bucket that is so far above his head and balancing over the hole, without tipping the dirt back into the hole?

Why be specific about the twentythird day when you are specific about nothing else. You could simply say: "One morning at daybreak about three weeks later, he found he could not etc.

Why does the yong man not hesitate to start digging after the rope breaks? This is a strange thing to tell your reader. What is the significance of it?

As you can see, this piece makes the reader question almost every line. That is the greatest sin a writer can commit. You have to get your reader to believe in your world, even if it is a fantastic one. You have not done that here. So the reader cannot read smoothly and is so distracted he really doesn;t want to read on.  I forced myself to the end, which I suspected would be the obvious - and it was. The man dies.

Sorry to be so harsh but I have to suppose you are here to get to learn your craft better. Of course, I may be all wrong in my assessment and there may be others who will think this is a brilliant piece of prose. You have to make the final decision, accept or reject the advice you are given by others. Whatever you decide, I wish you good writing.

While I agree that this is "far from reality", I don't think that's a bad thing per se.  However, you might want to consider exaggerating its irreality (in a realistic fashion) even further!  Stray completely into the realm of magical realism!  Don't waste time describing what he eats, or perhaps have him so fueled by his desire that he completely subverts the needs of his body to it.

Although this is flash fiction, I think there needs to be a bit more to it than just descriptions of his digging (which get a bit confused after a while in any case).  What kind of treasure was it, for instance?  You could maybe insert some flashbacks to his conversation with the cousins and uncles to break up the monotony of the hole-digging parts.  Stuff like that.

 

When he finally breaks through the lime, the tunnel has narrowed significantly. The three meter hole, which had fallen to about his arm span before the limestone, is now only slightly wider than his shoulders. Through the diagonal portions, he can still manage to stand, through the horizontal segments, he crawls on his elbows and knees.

This is where the digging gets confused.  He's the one digging the tunnel.  It's not already there.  So why are there diagonal and horizontal portions that he crawls or walks through?  He shouldn't be moving fast at all if he's digging only moving "milimeters a day"!

His muscles have atrophied and withered and now he has hardly the strength to move. Yet still, he makes the motions, scooping with his hands, but picking up no dirt.

Why have his muscles atrophied?  Since he's spent the majority of his life digging, I don't think they'd atrophy!  Especially since before he was able to perform the relatively super-human feat of digging out stone with his bare hands!

In time, from exhaustion and senility, he forgets how to speak. His mouth, unable to mimic the once familiar movements of speech, now knows only how to laugh. So he laughs, while awake and in sleep.

Considering he's been by himself digging a hole for the past, let's say, 50 years, I think he would long since have forgotten how to speak.  Unless he talks to the birds and the worms and so on.  Also a typo in know/knows.  (There are similar spots elsewhere, like "his hair... remain stained")

    Over the years, his digging movements become slower and shorter, until he can do nothing more but lay still. When even the strength to laugh has left him, he closes his eyes and melts into the dirt.

A rather predictable ending, although I do like the last sentence.

I would go through this story and try to change it up a bit.  Allegory is all well and good but after a while constant descriptions of the various kinds of digging get a little dull.  Don't worry so much about the laws of reality and human experience as we know them, but do make sure the story is internally consistent.  Give it its own laws and make sure they're followed. 

With a bit of work, I think this could improve a lot!  Good luck, and welcome aboard

Greetings, Digby!

I loved, absolutely LOVED, your story THE HOLE!

This is one cool-ass little fairy tale and one tense, taut, and tremendously-written parable!   I love the exaggeration of reality and the fantastical slant.   It was not confusing to me, cuz it's more like a DREAM STATE you are putting the Reader into, and trapping them like the dude in the story so they can't escape.  It reads like one great big fat freaky metaphor for Life and like a story that's a thousand years old and been told a thousand times by a thousand storytellers and, man, Digby, I LOVE THAT SH**IT!!! 

Really the only change I'd suggest is to break up the paragraphs, make 'em shorter, sometimes just a sentence or two, to give it some breathing space, to make some of the words STAND OUT, without changing any of the words.

Cool work!  Beautiful job, man!  I loved it, and I can't wait to read more by ya, Digby!  Have a beautiful day!  Your Fan,

  Candy Buddah

 This story has great potential, and I like it.  What you have is good.   I do have some questions that may help you in developing your story further.

Is this set in the modern times?  I assume so because he's wearing jeans.  So that's about 200 years after the revolutionary war - how is the young man so certain that he has the right landmark?  What is the treasure, exactly?  Money? Gold?  Jewels?  Where did the treasure come from?

Did the treasure exist?  If it does or doesn't - why would his family tell him of this treasure and then not come looking for him when he's not heard from in several weeks?  Or do they have reason to get him out of the way?  Why would he keep digging (before he loses his mind) for a treasure that doesn't exist - a fact that becomes clear after several weeks.  Why is he so obsessed with this treasure?

Hope these help!  

 Hey there,

This story has an excellent concept. Although there are a few things I should mention. The hardest thing for me was was trying to relate to this story, as this man is digging, and digging and digging. It almost got a little boring once he was lying on the limestone, because the story reads detailed, to the point of exhaustion. In other words, I think you could have done just as good of a job if you shortened it up a little. The second thing is that even though it is fiction, it is a little far-fetched. One man, one shovel, and digging to the point of immeasureability is beyond anything we can comprehend, especially when a man breaks three feet of soil, and reaches "hard-pan," which is probably impossible to break through without heavy equipment. Although it's fiction, I did take that into consideration, and so it made it a little easier to take in, even when it was so outlandish. Another thing I question is how the man survived down there. There must have been millions of bugs, but to live off of that for that long is almost magical. And lastly, I think you should remove the part when you say...

Years go by, and he continues digging. When his shovel rusts and breaks, he digs with his bare hands. His fingers become raw and bloody. When he can no longer stand to dig with his fingers, he scrapes the dirt with the sides of his palms. His palms too, get worn to the bone

This would have been a great ending, rather then placed before him becoming old, tired, and grey.

Hope my critique helped a little. Overall it was a great story, and very creative. I absolutely love the concept.

In the world of visual art (my area of expertise) a particular work may have parts that are worth more than the sum. The use of color and texture, rhythm and balance are judged independently from the overall view, which in turn give multiple meanings to the canvas and contribute to the work as a whole. Given that, "the whole" should go somewhere. Color and rhythm, texture and balance by itself does not constitute art. This is my opinion of course and it could be (has been) debated in the singular question "what is art?"

In your story, (writing is not my expertise but a passion) I feel the color and texture, rhythm and balance (pacing). But for the life of me I can't see where it was going? It has an allegorical feeling, but the point escaped me. I started to feel something that alluded to the meaningless nature of life, but I am afraid that this may have been something that my mind stuck in the blank space where it expected a message. It could be that I just don't get it.

There were places in your story where we were asked to suspend belief, which is common for an allegory. We do this to receive the payoff of a hidden or layered meaning which gives depth and allusion to the story. Without the payoff, the suspended belief stands naked on the stage, self conscious and stark.

To be sure, your writing had body and substance. I felt the dirt, the grime, the focused determination of the protagonist. The pacing, for the most part, seemed correct for the length of the story. But here again, the payoff for the pacing, leaves me hollow in the end. A one man race to the finish line, with no line, the crowd, no reward; All we get is a conclusion that makes me wonder why we started?

I may be obtuse. The writing level keeps me wondering if I missed it? You have skills, so I keep looking at it, not completely convinced that I am looking at anything at all.