Fluffy Cats

I’ve written about Cats and Oranges.

Cats are adorable stories you’d love to pull into your lap. Everyone wants to pet a cat. They’re attributes most likely to appeal to a generalist reader or judge.

On the other hand, Oranges are a story’s technical attributes — its cadence, form, delivery, mechanics, techniques, and specific terminology related to the genre — the overall use of technical attributes that might make the composition stand out from a competitor. Oranges are writing techniques that might appeal to a judge who admires your command of a genre or appreciates your application, elevating your story above a competitor.

In the context of the “art” of writing, I argue that these two ideas contend against each other. Overly technical stories might alienate a generalist, peer-judged audience, whereas advanced techniques might draw the eye of a professional judge looking for a distinctive voice.

Lately, I’ve encountered outcomes in peer-based judging that favor flowery, overwrought descriptions, where I’ve lost by a relatively small margin (one point) to stories that are exceptionally saccharine-rich with descriptions.

The Fluffy Cat vs. The Short-Haired Cat

I’ve come to realize that I favor writing short-haired cats. I like telling tight, succinct stories with embellishments in essential places that might appeal to a broader audience. I strive for efficiency and word economy and, in so doing, avoid flowery descriptions, balancing the product at 50% cat and 50% orange: a story with strong plots, a relatable character arc, and a concrete transformation/resolution at the end of the story, combined with strong efficiency in the prose. I’ve successfully submitted short-haired cats with a couple of stories in professionally judged competitions like NYC Midnight.

• Bottomfeeder, a 1,000-word flash, came in #1 in its cohort and leveraged that balance between word economy and description.

• I employed the same technique in The Miller’s Wife, a 2,500-word short story that also came in #1 in its cohort.

• The Monsters We Know, a 500-word flash that came in at #3 in its cohort, was my first trial with this style. I suppressed flowery descriptions until I got to the most relevant parts of the story.

But this short-haired cat thing doesn’t translate well into peer-based judging.

• Seng of Titan was an overtly technical (Orange-heavy) sci-fi story that failed to gain traction in Writing Battle. Figuring my audience was into sci-fi as much as I was (wrong!), I wrote over their heads and alienated the audience.

• Under the Knife missed the Writing Battle finals by one contest out of ten, scoring a seven and receiving an Honorable Mention. It was highly efficient and spared description to deliver a comprehensive horror in 500 words.

• Similarly, my latest Writing Battle with The Baker of Bogwollow, it missed the finals by one contest out of ten, scoring a six and, once again, receiving an Honorable Mention. Another short-hair, it was highly efficient with overt areas where I poured on the description to yank an emotional response out of the reader.

I seem to be mastering the art of barely getting into the finals by not convincing one person — just one more person — to like my story. I lost to stories with a fluffier cat, offered with more description.

However, it’s not just the peer-judged competitions. This year, I’ve found that I underperform in NYC Midnight contests when I lean too heavily into the short-haired cat.

• Loose Ends, a 500-word flash, was an extremely short-haired cat where I was all about the technical delivery of a complex espionage story. I sacrificed a lot of description in favor of dialogue and internal monologue. In the 1st round, it didn’t place but received an Honorable Mention. It did worse than I expected it to.

• Skyward Horizons 424, a 1,000-word flash, was all dialogue, no descriptions; a pure short-haired cat if there ever was one. I tried to make the dialogue funny and relatable, using a lot of dialect to help drive character description (a good Cat), but the delivery fell flat. The judges wanted more description. It came in 12th in its cohort.

• The Last Train Out of Viena was a third-round NYC Midnight that received a good technical critique from the judges but lacked emotional punch. It was nearly all dialogue and overly ambitious for 1,000 words. It didn’t place or move on.

So, okay, I can’t escape it! I must add more description! I need a fluffier cat!

The Argument for the Fluffy Cat

I believe that writing contests (peer-judged or professional) desire an immediate emotional impact from a fictional story. This is different from academic or technical writing or scoring. This isn’t an essay, and it’s not non-fiction; we don’t need to weigh its evidence or argument critically. Judges are looking for that sugar high, “How did this story make me feel?” So you must present a Cat. In some way, the story must be emotionally connected and resonant to stand out.

I presume peer judges speed-read entries and rely more on their initial gut reactions. Flowery, poetic language evokes strong visuals and emotions in fewer seconds than it takes to appreciate the layered precision of efficient prose. Saccharine-laced descriptions are like neon signs screaming “Feel something!” in a crowded street, and it immediately grabs the mind. It overwhelms. This is the fluffy cat in action, and since the amateur isn’t likely to re-read the story, they’re left with what they felt at the end.

The Argument for the Short-Haired Cat

Meanwhile, I presume professional judges will take an initial read and then re-read the work several times, critically identifying its merits and flaws. I imagine them dissecting a story, examining its entrails, weighing its organs (the critique is part of their job), and are less influenced by the “fluffiness”. Sure, they want to feel something from the story, but the emotional resonance is just one aspect of a rubric. A short-haired Cat presents succinct descriptions, perhaps timed with the emotional waves of a story.

Leaning Fluffy or Short-Haired

But here’s the catch. While efficiency alone might not win contests, precision in storytelling builds pace, sharpens tension, and creates memorable, distinct characters with arcs that wrap to a conclusion. That’s one of my biggest grievances with Fluffy Cats. They seem to go nowhere. You’re immersed in a vivid world, but the world itself isn’t the story.

Maybe what I’m trying to describe is the difference between a fleeting sugar rush and a lasting, savory meal: where good technique helps deliver a solid story, its emotional resonance makes it memorable. It’s what sticks in the mind.

So, I think the next frontier may be recognizing areas in my writing where I’ve gone too efficient, sacrificing description. Where do I need to add more fluff or remove it?

With peer-based work, I’d hope to see my entries final more often, attracting that one missing vote, whereas, in professionally judged competitions, I may place higher, creating more resonance.

We’ll see!

R