As someone who’s spent most of his writing career (so far) writing individual scenes, I have to agree. A shorter story can be just as satisfying as a full novel, if not moreso.
I always hated short stories.
I considered reading a short story like going out to dinner and only ordering an appetizer. Want a real meal? Eat a goddamn novel. – Jacob Tomsky
I came to the short story late. It wasn’t til this year, 2013, at the age of 38, that I finally began to appreciate this form.
I don’t remember exactly when it began. Three ingredients fell into a pot over a period of months – Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast, Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House and subsequent suggestions that I read “The Lottery,” my quest to read Southern women – and a delicate broth began to bubble. It was thin at first, but as it perked and popped, as it reduced and thickened, its flavor deepened, became more complex, more surprising, and more pleasurable than I thought a humble soup could be.
Like Tomsky, quoted above…
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