Writing a lot lately, and some different stuff. Different voices, subject matters, etc. Here’s a smattering of things being worked on:
Untitled One: dog falls in love with delivery robot
Untitled Two: racist teacher hates men in turbans
Untitled Three: gay couple adopt in other country
Untitled Four: very unexpected quadruplets
Untitled Five: the shortest bridge in the province
Untitled Six: shut-in germaphobe grows third arm
Untitled Seven: fish swim in lake with no water
Untitled Eight: kids go deaf from explosion, so does bear
Anyway, that’s a few, there are others. I’ve realized that about a quarter of my stories are actually good. Another half are decent but aren’t going to set the world on fire. The final quarter are utter garbage. Call it the 25-50-25 rule of writing quality. It’s super hard to tell which story fits in which category, actually. You have to read them a few times. Figure out which ones have a soul, which ones don’t.
Admitting that a story is a dud is hard. You want to raise the thing after you give it birth. Let it turn into something, go on a first date, have a kid of its own, but it’s just not the case at times. Sometimes, the story has no soul, and there’s just no point doing anything with it.
I’ve realized that a cross-genre writer. I don’t care about genres. I’ll write with a literary bent about fantastical things. I’ll do horror, sci-fi, fantasy, romance, whatever. I’ll mash them gladly. Happily. I’ll go where the story leads me. I do often feel as a writer that I don’t fit into any obvious categories, which is frustrating. I don’t know what to call myself. Maybe an upmarket fiction writer? That might be the closest. My goal is to write something you haven’t seen before, to bring a unique voice to the fiction world. I don’t need to fit in. I just need to be me.
More importantly, just have to keep writing. This is a crazy, wonderful craft. For those on this journey too, I salute you. And I love you.