I’d meant to publish a little update about how my Q1 ended at some point last month, but I did not. “Something about a rooster. I don’t know.”*
I meant to have a completed draft of my fairy tale done by now, but I don’t have that either.
I meant to be stay on wagons, but I fell off them.
I feel like I’m writing a Little Critter book here. I Meant to Do It by Mercer Mayer Amy Trent. Except Little Critter would not be endearingly small anymore–he’d be all grown up and forty and with a cold. This one has been slowly moving through our house, searing all our throats before making our noses drip like melting popsicles in Colorado sunshine.
I just finished judging a stack of short story submissions for the League of Utah Writers annual writing contest. Oh, there were some good ones! An author friend asked me about short stories yesterday. I heard today on Marketplace, which always plays when I’m picking my lovies up from school, about how short stories that are blowing up on reddit are being bought for millions by Hollywood (“Good for them!”). It’s around minute 22 of the “Giving up beer to pay for gas?” episode if you are interested.
And now that I think about it, the last book I bought at my local indie bookstore, we have one now in Erie that is so cool, was a short story anthology. My local bookseller was like, “They may not all be for you, but I think you’ll love the first three especially, and your teens might like them too.” SOLD!
Short stories are having a bit of a moment over here for me. And it makes sense. Why invest 10 hours on a new author, if you can invest 10 minutes and get the same result?
A good short story is so wonderful. It stays with you. It makes your day better. It barrels or unfolds into an ending that sticks. A good short story is like a Simone Biles vault. They’re precision instruments that feel effortless. They’re feats of wonder that end almost as soon as they begin. They’re tough to execute. Not every writer can land a good short story. For this author they’re rare. A bit like trying to catch a butterfly. Lots of swings. Lots of empty nets, but oh, I am so proud when I catch one.
And after reading so many good ones, I am itching to attempt more short fiction. I have an idea of cosplay rom-com short-story inspired by the idea of sleeping beauty in a Comic-Con setting. Except this would be a detour from all my writerly goals for 2026.
I think I my retroactively post an update for April, but later when I’m feeling better. Right now Aspen is staring at me with very definite ideas about what I should be doing right now, and it is closing the computer away and napping.
Are short stories having a bit of a moment for you too? In our modern world is the pull of a satisfying, momentary escape calling to you with increasing urgency?
*A Trentism that started as a quote from my cousin that in states of reduced mental faculties is often spoken as a perfectly sound excuse for any situation… Why didn’t you put gas in the car? Something about a rooster. What’s the plan for dinner tonight? Something about a rooster.