It’s no secret that I sit on stories for a long time. Like, a ridiculously long time. Longer than anyone I know. And when I say “sit on them,” I mean I will maybe write down a few details and impressions so I don’t lose them while all the moulding of the story takes place in the confines of my brain. I rarely sit in front of a blank screen without having thought about the story I intend to impart.
I’ve got one such story churning right now, inspired by events that occurred in December 2013. Yet another is spinning into shape sparked by a dream I woke up to in March 2015. A third has been haunting my mind for months and months, the dream I had made such an impression I didn’t mark down any notes, so I can’t give an exact date. The fourth has been swirling far longer than the others but I hadn’t felt prepared to write it before.
For the record, dreams are very rare for me. Especially those that I remember. And even rarer are the ones that inspire any kind of artistry. But that’s not my point.
Initially, I thought that each of these stories would be their own full length novel. Yet the more I mull them over, the more holes I see in a long arc. For all of them. Filler would weaken the power I felt in each of these stories, but I didn’t know what complexities I could add to make them work. Then the other night I had an idea.
Short stories. Common themes. One collection.
So I’m now making plans to write stories for my collection, currently called Mind and Body. I have four stories in mind; I’m not sure if there will be more since this idea is in its infancy.
I love having a solution to a problem though. Now that I’m not anxiously trying to make each story longer and stronger, I can worry about making their themes have greater impact via brevity. I can’t wait to get writing.
The genesis of every one of my projects amuses me to no end. I never know where they’re going to come from.
*Featured image source: Cocoon by Internets_dairy via Flickr