The First Short Story
A few months ago, I sat down one evening to write. It was approximately 8:00. By 9:30, I had finished a short story. It’s four pages long. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. It takes place in a location I know well. I think it’s…decent.
I have since started working on a second draft of this maybe-just-okay story. I will eventually submit it somewhere.
The short story came from a desire to practice my fiction writing without the commitment of a full length novel. I am working on a novel, and it feels a little weird to say that, but I had put it aside for awhile to do some research. I figured I would try my hand at shorter prose and see what happened.
Previous short story attempts did not go far. Every single story that I started, up until this one story, the story that I finished, petered out within hours; I thought it was boring, and I just let it be. I have many years worth of story starters that I will probably never finish. The situations and characters did not hold my interest. And if they didn’t hold my interest, they certainly would not hold the interest of a future reader. As you might imagine, when I actually managed to complete that first story, it was a pretty big deal.
In the months following that first short story, I somehow managed to churn out a second one! This is really too much for me. It deserves champagne and a night out or at least some chocolate; but like the first story, the second one is probably just okay. Maybe that doesn’t matter. The point is that I did it! I should be proud of myself for the effort! Yes. I am proud of myself. But I recognize that these little stories of mine are not yet ready for sharing, and that tempers the thrill. They are too rough, too unformed, too much the result of a newbie fiction writer.
In the coming weeks and months, I will write and rewrite and rewrite again until they are ready. There’s no rush and I’m enjoying the journey. In time, I will share.