In the middle of January, I decided that I wanted to write a series of short stories set at the Canadian National Exhibition. Not sure why, really. I mean, I had always enjoyed going, and it seemed like a great way to write about my home town, which, despite going to shit, I still love. But I didn’t really have any stories in mind to tell.
Well. Four months later, I am working on the 10th story in the series (my first novella-length story – gotta keep changing things up if you don’t want your writing to become stale). By the time this is finished, I should have 80,000 words written in the series, which is what I always aim for, but I have ideas for two more stories, so I will likely write them, as well.
What I’m going to do with the stories is an open question. So far, they have been collectively rejected a total of seven times without a single acceptance. This is no surprise to me: I write weird shit. (More thoughts about that in a future post.) In one story, “Guess This is Your Unlucky Day,” the guy who runs the Guess Your Age/Weight booth has an encounter with an Elder God who is trying to be a tourist. In “A Defining Moment of Fun,” a sentient AI downloads itself into an android and roams the CNE trying to figure out what human beings mean when they talk about “fun.” I’m not even going to try to explain the story “Universes Leak Out of My Ears,” except to say that a version of me is the main character.
Don’t get me wrong: I love writing and I love what I write. But there’s no shame in recognizing that it’s weird shit.
When the work as a whole is completed, I will decide what to do with it. In the short-term, I will keep looking for publishers for each individual story (I am, for instance, eagerly awaiting the day when some Canadian magazines open for submissions.) If I don’t have any luck there, there is no shame in publishing a collection of entirely new, unpublished stories. I may try to find a publisher for it, but I may end up publishing it myself.
Because writers have no shame. 🙂