I fool myself a lot, I really do. I do what I can, I work hard, and I strive to get ahead. I set goals for myself that some say are ambitious, others says may be a little foolish, but they are my goals, and I do my best to get them done.
There are some thing, though, I just can’t do. I’m not talking about being able to read minds: I do believe I’ll get that talent licked one of these days. No, I’m talking about something else–
I’m talking about being able to write a short story.
When I set out doing Fantasies in Harmonie, I told people, a few people, a number of people, that I was going to “keep it short”. It’s fantasy erotica, and if you want people to be interested, you gotta get right to the sex. Most of the stuff out there–by which I mean, “The tentacle sex stories on Smashwords“–seem to be between five thousand and eight thousand words, so if you’re doing it sexy, you’re doing it short.
I’ve mentioned that writing short can sometimes be a problem for me. The shortest thing I’ve published is just short of ten thousand words–the maximum for what most people consider a short story–and the longest . . . well, it was so long I decided to cut it into three novels. As my ex would say of Stephen King, “He’s too wordy,” and I seem to have the same problem. Not that I consider it a problem, but there are some who have told me I’m a good writer if I can’t do a short story. (To which I had a rather choice reply, but that’s another story . . .)
Therefor, when writing Fantasies in Harmonie, I knew I was going to keep it short, keep it simple, make it all about the smut and put a fake name on the sucker–
I finished my eight hundred words last night–I was feeling down, didn’t really feel like writing, but I got it in–and I looked at where I am in the tale. I’m eight hundred and twenty-three words into the current scene–which happens to be the second scene of the second part, which is–lemme see . . . sixty-two hundred words into the story.
And no sex at all. Hell, I just now got to the fantasy transformations!
Issac Asimov once said that short stories were probably the hardest thing to write. Yeah, I know: he wrote like two hundred of them, so how hard can it be? If you look at that another way, he knew how hard it was, because he’d taught himself to become good in that form, and that took a lot of work to develop that talent. There are a lot of reasons why shorts are not that prevalent today, number one of which seems to be a lack of markets for writers to peddle their wares.
Back in the day of the Golden Age of Science Fiction there were hundreds of markets for shorts, and not only could one sell a three thousand word story for a penny a word, but actually live on that, writers went for that gold. Today, you want to do a short story, you’ll probably post it to an internet board and not see a dime for you effort–you’ll be lucky to get one comment.
This isn’t about markets with me, however: this is about what I do. And I do novelettes, novellas, and novels. I don’t have a problem with that–
I do hope people like my long form erotica, though.
I’m telling you, it’s gonna be hot.