Whatever your perspective regarding The View from Here, you couldn’t possibly mistake me for The Clash. I never was nor will be an angry young man you really must listen to, let alone the legendary Clash. No fooling about my NYC address, however.
All told, from my downtown apartment overlooking a boisterous 24-hour Dunkin Donuts, I fit all too well the person Mike French was warned against becoming: I am an isolated writer.
As a young mother, I wrote fiction while my children napped. I had always wanted to write fiction, but fought it, not wanting to fail, until they were born whereupon: no kidding and no escape—my adult self was a chronic fiction writer.
My children grew into their own lives and I kept writing. Some short stories were published. A few collections won honorable mentions. One novel, like those of so very many writers, almost made it into print.
Before long, then, I reached a plateau where I was rewriting more than writing. Before, I might spend a month on thirty pages and after the story drew to its conclusion, I’d rewrite the whole thing two or three times. After a few of these efforts, unfortunately, I began spending months on the same ten to twenty pages. My remedy for this illness turned out to be the confines of a blog.
To keep myself from rewriting everything to death, I resolved to post online fiction Monday through Friday. I wrote it and of course rewrote it, until just before falling asleep, I’d post it. I still do, imagining my fiction posts as a performance: I do my best and put it up. These episodes have developed, as if organically, into serial stories. When I rewrite them, off line, they equal one hundred manuscript pages, more or less.
Don’t know about elsewhere, but here in the states, novellas are pitifully unpopular. One agent I tried had never heard the term: Did I mean a lite-novel or a long short story?
Nonetheless, I’m proud of my blog novellas and have found a special freedom within a blog’s limits.
Since my few attempts blogging non-fiction have always embarrassed me, Mike has generously agreed to let me try my hand at short stand-alone fiction posts. I’m not sure what to expect. The idea looms like yet another daredevil stunt. But that's the way I work. Even when I burn and crash, I’m happier than when I must struggle with real life.
Please, comment if you don’t like or understand what I do, or if you do. Honestly, I’m as eager to learn as to perform. Next time you read a post by me, however, remember it’s fiction. That first person or third is never me. Fiction exists separately.