Well, hello historical fiction. Fancy meeting you here.

Guys, I’m nothing if not consistent.

This is what, week two of NaNo and I’m sitting around, doing just about everything except actually working on Random Contemporary/aka With Me Now.  Here’s a sampling of things I did instead:

  • Clipped my toenails
  • Fell asleep next to my laptop
  • Fell asleep with my laptop on my lap
  • Watched Top Gear.  Twice.
  • Pinned hilarious Pinterest pictures related to The Walking Dead, such as but not limited to, “Stay in the fucking house, Carl” (not nearly as amusing if you’re not a fan of TWD)
  • Sang The Thong Song (what’s up, 1999??)
  • Explained to my three-year old what nipples are (sample conversation: “Does Daddy have them?”  “Yes.”  “What do they do?”  “Nothing.)
  • Wrote a short story.

Yes, I wrote a short story.

Now….now look, I’m what, almost 32 years old?  I’ve been consistently writing since 4th grade.  But, I’ve never written a short story.  Ever.  I’ve written poetry.  I’ve written hilarious songs about working in retail.  I’ve written a novel or two.  But, I’ve never written a short story.

I’ve always turned my snobby little nose up at short stories.  Short stories are connotative to my high school English classes.  Unfortunately, the only short story title I can think of at this moment is “An Occurence at Owl Creek Bridge.”  I don’t think I read that in high school.  Oh, and Poe.  I read a lot of Poe in high school.

When it comes to writing, though, I can’t definitively say that I’ve ever tried my hand at writing a short story.  My story ideas are typically delusions of grandeur.  They demand casts of thousands.  They require abuse of section breaks and semi-colons.  But a short story…a short story requires….succinctness?

I’m not succinct.  I’m easily distracted.  Case in point:  I put this blog post down so I could go and grab and handful of cheese puffs.

But…here’s the weird thing.  And not weird as in, “But, I bought that yogurt on Saturday!  How did it expire on November 1st?”  I wrote that little short story–thirteen pages from start to finish–in one day.  Not like, twenty-four hours one day, but I wrote the majority of it over my lunch break at work and then finished it up when I got home.

That never happens.

It is, as you may have guessed by the blog title, historical fiction.  Remember, I’ve put historical fiction on hold for the time being while I finish With Me Now.  Apparently, what I meant when I said that was I was putting historical fiction on hold until I picked it up again later on that day.  It’s like me and my diet.  “No, no, I don’t need that slice of pumpkin cake.  I’m dieting.  Oh, okay, well maybe just a small piece.”

So, now that it’s finished, why not celebrate by submitting it to a short story contest?!  Yup.  That’s what I’m doing.  What a rebel.  More on that as it develops.

Thirteen pages cranked out in a couple of hours.  Why can’t I get this kind of work done on my contemporary?  I mean, I was getting work like that done on it.  Until November hit and I got all cocky with, “Well, my goal is to finish the whole manuscript by the end of November.  Beause that’s totally doable.”  Ha.  So far, I’ve finished a chapter.

And a short story.  That’s a victory.  I’ll take ’em as I can get ’em.

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