I live an ordinary life. It’s simple and I like it this way. The nonfiction stories I share on my blog tend to reflect this. They are about finding humor in the every day — or, at the least, an appreciation or silver lining. I have little to no desire to play the role of a cynic in my daily existence or on the Internet. This type of person exists in us all.
Anger is present in our beings, even when unsurfaced, but I don’t want to be the angry man either — or the frustrated, irritated man. These are all valid emotions. Each has its place. But I am of the opinion they should be treated with moderation and shared sparingly with the world. There’s enough anger, frustration, and cynicism out there as is. Why add to it?
Lately, when I’ve sat down to write, I’ve found myself steering toward those emotions and not away from them. I find the state of the Internet concerning. It tends to reward clickbait and ragebait. The old media saying, “If it bleeds, it leads” still holds true. I’d amend this to add, “If it divides, it thrives.”
Because the more outrageous thing someone writes or says nowadays, the more eyeballs. While I will never engage in writing this type of material, I have felt a need to speak out against it. But in doing so, none of which I even published on my blog when it was all said and done (unless you count “The Lone Reader“), I felt no relief. I felt more frustrated.
And when I write from a frustrated perspective, my writing suffers because I no longer enjoy the process. And if I don’t enjoy the process, I have to ask myself: why am I writing?
That signaled to me a change of direction was needed.
Instead of sticking exclusively with nonfiction, which is what most of you are familiar with on my blog, I’m pivoting to include fictional stories. What the cadence will be for this type of short story, I don’t know. Ray Bradbury, author of ‘Fahrenheit 451,’ once gave the advice to write one short story each week for 52 weeks in the year. He dared writers to write 52 bad stories. It’s not possible, he said.
Will I be sharing a new short story every week on this blog? No. Every two weeks? Maybe. No matter the frequency, I do want to start sharing these short stories because I have a surprising amount of fiction in my file library and even more ideas which await being fleshed out.
Over the years, I’ve been protective of my fiction to a fault. It’s been under lock and key and no one has caught a whiff of these stories except for my wife, but even she has only seen excerpts — never the full stories from beginning to end.
I could lie to myself, and to you, and say that part of this has always been a grander ambition to compile all these stories into a collection or submit to a literary journal that maybe 500 people read present day. That’s what most writers do. Literary journal or compile a book, ship it off, and sell it. It makes sense. But I haven’t done that yet. And it’s not 1986 anymore anyway. It’s 2024. I have my own website. Why do I need a traditional gatekeeper?
But the main reason has been my own insecurity. Are these stories worth a damn? Interestingly enough, my recent crisis of confidence as a writer has compelled me to answer that question myself, “I think they are worth a damn.”
Will they make you exclaim to the world at large I am the next Hemingway, Faulkner, or Cheever? Doubtful. But they may entertain you. You might, you just might, find them enjoyable to read. Might.
One of the reasons I like writing fictional short stories is straightforward enough: my opinion is unnecessary. I can carve it out or I can, at a minimum, add more nuance to it than is possible in a nonfiction piece. In the end, it’s a story and not an op-ed piece.
I understand it’s impossible not to have an opinion. We’re human. It happens. This in and of itself is an opinion. But I’m tired of opinions on everything. I’m tired of my own opinion. I’m tired of others’ opinions. I want to read and write stories, not opinions masquerading around as the capital T-Truth.
The other appeal, which comes first really, is freedom. Writing fiction is freeing. I can take a snippet from my day and create a new world around it. I can create characters and a story that didn’t exist before.
Here’s an example: last year, I had a small woodpecker wreak havoc on the siding of my home. The type of siding on my house has long been discontinued. It was part of a class action lawsuit in the 90s. Once moisture finds its way in, it’s a woodpecker buffet.
I’ve started and stopped writing a nonfiction story about this multiple times in the past. It wouldn’t be a bad story if I kept it nonfiction. I could tie it into a greater theme or life lesson. I could write it as a standalone vignette — all ways of writing nonfiction I’ve done in the past.
But I’ve had this idea stirring in my head for a while now to convert the incident into a fictional short story. Call it fiction, semi-autobiographical fiction, auto fiction. Call it what you will. It’s part true, part not.
Instead of letting it sit there in my head trapped, I decided, you know what? I’m going for it. And man, did I have a lot of fun writing it. Actual fun. I didn’t yell “Yipee!” but I did smile as I typed out the words and scenes.
I’ve written other new stories since. Some involve wildlife like the woodpecker story. I can’t help myself. I love animals and nature. Others are centered on the human condition and take on a more serious tone.
Whether you subscribe to this site by email, RSS, or just visit from time to time, you’ll be able to identify the stories pretty quickly. Their titles will be written in this format:
Title of Story: Short Story
I plan to release the woodpecker story in a few days so keep an eye out. Bear in mind, however, what you read may not be its final form but a draft. I reserve the right to continue tinkering. It’s my greatest pastime.
P.S. I still plan to share nonfiction stories here. The fiction will be supplementary.
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