A Stubborn Short Story
We’ve all heard of authors who’ve written stories over a period of years, famous works the authors have written over periods of years, taking long breaks that have lasted decades. Benjamin Franklin did it with his memoir; Mark Twain did it with Huckleberry Finn; and I have a friend, a published thriller writer who’s been working on something for several years, but has written it on and off, when the inspiration strikes her.
I’ve heard of all this, but only for novels and memoirs. Never for short stories!
And yet this is what’s happening with my demonic-possession-gone-wrong story; I started it today, got a few pages in, and then I couldn’t do a thing with it. What gives? I have no idea, but I just can’t work anymore on this story. And I have no idea if it’s me losing interest in the story or the story not wanting to form at this very moment under these current conditions or some combination of the two.
And yes, I realize I’m making the story itself seem like a living, breathing being with will and defiance to my own will, but that’s what it feels like.
Suffice to say, I’ll take a break from this short story, though hopefully not for years. Maybe I’ll come back to it in a few days or weeks, and work on it bit by bit. If I can, I’ll make it into one of the best short stories I’ve ever written.
In the meantime, I have plenty of other stuff to work on. In fact, there’s a story about a dissociative fugue I can start on possibly tomorrow, if I can get my homework done before the Sabbath. Wish me luck.
Oh, and by the way, has this ever happened to you, with any sort of creative work?