It happened today. I wrote another two thousand words and crossed the first threshold, that of the short story, into the Land of the Novella. A barren, desolate place, infrequently visited, but home to some very fine stories. I’m thinking of The Mist, by Stephen King; Mrs. God, by Peter Straub; Walking Around Money, by Donald Westlake; and so many others. Novellas can be a truly great medium. They require a bit more of a commitment than a short story, but not as much as that of a novel. Reading a good novella is like going on a really great date with someone who you know isn’t right for you in the long run. It’s dinner, conversation, maybe a peck on the cheek before you say goodnight, and that’s all. A really great time.
"Silver Falls"
That’s how I would describe "Silver Falls" – a really great time. It’s about a small town with secrets, not unlike other stories about small towns, or even those you’ve undoubtedly visited yourself, but I’ve tried to put a different spin on it. This novella, which will be the first in a series of stories set in the town, is about secrets that come to the town, as opposed to revealing those that are already there. This is not Peyton Place or even ‘Salem’s Lot, both fine books, to be sure, but a story about what one person (or in this case, three) will do for the simple love of the place they call home when that place is threatened. It’s not so much about that thing politicians call "town pride" as it is about town love, as stupid and saccharine as that phrase may sound.
Speaking of love, I have to mention how unexpectedly helpful I’ve found my new word-meter to be. I’ve never needed any sort of reminder or deadline in order to write. I do it because I love it, it’s as simple as that. But I have to say, seeing my progress in my journal every time I happen past the website is like a tap on the shoulder and a curt voice saying Oh, Ian! According to your update three days ago, you finished seven thousand words of a ten-thousand-word story. That’s really great, but what I wonder is, um, if you could maybe tell me … WHERE IN THE NAME OF JUMPED-UP JESUS ARE THE OTHER THREE THOUSAND WORDS?! You think they’re just going to materialize out of the air?! Here’s an idea, why don’t you sit down and write a story about a writer who clearly doesn’t want it bad enough to write a measly three thousand words! Why, you’d be writing from experience, wouldn’t you? WOULDN’T YOU?!
Yes, my muse has some anger-control issues, and he really shouldn’t be operating any heavy machinery (such as a word-meter), but I have to work with what I have. And despite his grumbling, he and the word-meter actually do help me in my writing. It’s not so much about discipline as it is adhering to a regular schedule and the word-meter is like my alarm clock. Sans snooze button, of course.
- Currently reading: The Black Echo, by Michael Connelly