Several weeks into quarantine, I posted an Instagram story telling my followers I would write them a short story if they provided a story prompt. Several of them obliged, and I’ve posted the resulting stories on this site (here and here, so far). The whole exercise has been a fun challenge, and I appreciate the interaction it’s created.
It’s been several weeks since I released a story, but I will publish one tomorrow. Tomorrow’s story is at my mom’s request. She wanted me to write her a story, based on a prompt she provided, as a birthday present (her birthday is this week). Happy birthday, Mom!
I hoped to publish a new story every week until I was out of prompts, but that plan got sidetracked, in a good way. Three weeks ago, I started writing a story based on a prompt from an IG user. After three days, and 4,000 words, I only scratched the surface of the tale. I pushed along a little further, to see if there was something there. And it seems like there is.
In his memoir On Writing, Stephen King claims writers are archeologists, and stories “are found things, like fossils in the ground … Stories are relics, part of an undiscovered pre-existing world.” I didn’t like that notion. I wanted the credit. I’ve realized, though, that Stephen King is probably right (strange, given he’s published more stories than I can count, and I’ve published zero).
So, I’m pleased to announce a new project, an additional archeological dig, so to speak. The story is about two young men in New York City, one a rich troublemaker from Carnegie Hill, and the other an Irish immigrant living with his uncle in Hell’s Kitchen.
We’ll see where it goes.
