Today I finished the first draft of a short story. She’s clocking in at about 25,000 words at the moment. Needs polishing or rewriting in places. Must iron out some of the wrinkles, but this draft is done. I think. As Ray Bradbury put it, somewhere – the story has a skin around it.

Might expand and grow and ramble, might whittle down to a slimmer thing. Not sure.

I’ve never done this before.

I’ve tried writing fiction, have been trying since I was maybe five or six years old. It’s just that I don’t often get to find out how the story ends.

Intentionally keeping things minimalist and formulaic. Fewer characters means I have space to get to know each one of them properly. Playing with ancient and familiar patterns, leaning into the oldest tropes, the epitome of tried and true. Shamelessly borrowing things I like from other stories. Keeping the stakes low – no apocalypses – and the universe grounded in smallness. Details are predominantly implicit.

Then turning around and packing in as much spice, color, spirit, & strangeness as is possible for me. Just for fun.

I think I’m getting fond.