Hello, everyone and happy July!
It’s so strange to think that one-third of summer is already over. I feel like it just started yesterday, but that’s just another reason to make sure that every day counts (and to make sure we all get enough words in per day on our manuscripts!)
Today, I want to start a discussion about short stories. What do you guys think about short stories?
I’ve entered a few short story contests and gotten published in a small, small college lit journal once, but somehow short stories still don’t feel as significant as adding some bulk to my main manuscript. After all, if I’m going to write 1000-2000 words, why not focus on my manuscript and be done that much sooner? Of course, I know that this isn’t true, but I can’t help but feel like I’m wasting time when I work on short stories. It just feels like it’s siphoning away words and creativity that could be going toward my “main” project.
Now, obviously writing short stories definitely helps us polish our craft and allows thoughts to flow freely, especially when certain ideas might not fit within our main project(s), but are they worth it? Let me know what you think in the comments below. Personally, I find it rewarding once I’m finished with a short story. There are short stories that I’ve written that I’m very proud of, and others that I don’t feel so fondly about. Basically, my thoughts on short stories are a mixed bag, and it’ll be a miracle if this post comes out even semi-coherently. Short stories are wonderful and I love reading them, but I seldom find enough willpower to actually make myself write one, even if I have an idea (and let’s be honest, that isn’t very often. I’d love to have ideas spontaneously pop into my head, but I just think I’m too focused on my main novel, which can be good or bad, or either, depending how you approach it). So anyway, tell me about short stories. What do you think?
Also, in honor of my second time seeing The Fault in Our Stars, I’m attaching a short story I wrote several months ago below. It’s definitely not my best, but it’s the most relevant, and it was the first that came to mind 🙂 [I also apologize for the formatting in advance…I couldn’t figure out how to get it to look like I wanted…]
At The End of the World
The hospital hallway was still and quiet. Nurses clad in seafoam green scrubs filtered in and out of patient’s rooms leisurely. They were in no rush, but Hope Winters sprinted. He swung around the first corner, his sneakers sliding on the linoleum tile. Just ahead was the front desk.
“Ariel Winters’ room,” he breathed heavily, leaning over the counter.
“Let me see,” the receptionist began typing. “She’s in room one nineteen.”
Hope bolted from the front desk. He tore past another nurse in the hallway, knocking her clipboard to the ground. The clatter of it hitting the floor was already distant when he saw a group of three nurses and a doctor exiting a room at the end of the hall. He whirled around them, rushing through a cloud of medical jargon.
“Ariel,” he panted, bursting through the door. The overhead fluorescent light was off and sunlight spilled through the window, covering the hospital bed in a glowing blanket. A girl with long brown hair lay there in silence, her eyes closed. At the sound of his footsteps, she opened her eyes and looked toward the door with a smile.
“Hope,” she reached out toward him. “I thought you were coming later?”
“No, I came as soon as they called,” he explained as he came around the bed and slipped his hand into hers as he sat down beside her. “How do you feel?”
“Weak,” she laughed softly before falling into a fit of coughing.
“Just wait. I’ll get—”
“No, no,” she gripped his hand as he tried to get up. “I don’t want to waste any time with nurses.”
“Don’t say that,” he cradled her hand in his gently. “I don’t want to think about it.”
“Hope,” she reached up and brushed his white hair away from his forehead with a smile. “You don’t look a day older than seventeen and still have white hair.” She laughed. “I always liked it.”
“Ariel…” he squeezed her hand.
“How many people have you outlived?” she coughed. “Why am I any different?”
“Because,” he sniffed, trying to hold back his tears. “In all my years, I never loved any of them. Except you.”
“Is that why you tried to make me immortal?”
“I thought I had succeeded, too.” He nodded. “After I watched my family die one by one, I told myself I would never love anyone ever again,” he wiped his eyes.
Ariel nodded her head. “And for a hundred years and then some, you never did,” her green eyes looked into his. “Then I came along and ruined everything?”
Hope stifled a chuckle, but for a split second he did laugh. “Exactly,” he smiled. “I was adamant. I even tried to hate you to get out of loving you, but I couldn’t.”
Ariel laughed almost inaudibly. “Sorry for changing your plans.”
“No, no,” his voice barely escaped his mouth. He ran his fingers through her hair. “You are the only thing I have cared about losing in a very long time.” He rocked back and forth on his chair. “How am I supposed to keep living?”
“Just like everyone else,” she tightened her ailing grip on his hand. “You aren’t the only one, you know.”
“Everyone else dies,” he said. “I’ll never see you again. I didn’t choose to be immortal.”
“This is how things have to be, Hope,” her smile vanished for the first time since he had arrived. “If you keep on living, there will be a reason for it.” She reached up and touched his face. “And it’s not just you. Do you think I want to leave you? I didn’t want this either, but I’ve accepted it.”
Hope held her hand to his face, squeezing silent tears from his eyes. “Ariel…” His tears made big splotches on the hospital blanket. He drew a deep breath in an effort not to cry, but let out a loud involuntary sob.
“Oh, Hope,” Ariel rubbed his hand. “Come on. Look at me.”
He sniffed and forced himself to look up.
“Now smile for me,” she said. “That’s the last thing I want to see before I go.”
“Ariel…” he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Come on, Hope,” Ariel drummed her fingers on his hand. “I don’t want my last sight to be you crying.”
Hope took a deep breath and did his best to force a smile for her. He stroked her cheek.
“There you go,” she laid her hand on his face. “I’m going to miss you so much, Hope. Heaven will feel a little empty without you.”
“I love you so much, Ariel,” his voice shook, tears falling from his eyes. “This world is going to feel a little empty without you.”
“I love you, Hope,” she smiled back with tears in her own eyes. “And I will see you again, even if it’s at the end of the world. I love you.”
Trembling and tears running down his face, Hope leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead, his whole body shaking. He felt her chest cease rising underneath him and couldn’t bear to get up. When he finally sat back in his chair, he lost it.
Falling on top of her, he sobbed, clutching her warm body in his arms. He didn’t care how loud he cried. He didn’t care who heard him.
When he was finally able to compose himself, he felt empty, like a piece of his soul had been ripped out. He sat there in silence, covering his mouth with his hands. Her words echoed in his mind.
”I will see you again, even if it’s at the end of the world.”
StoryCloset 