I used to hate short stories. Hate hate 2x double hate.
Stories were supposed to be EPIC. Play out over years and decades and centuries if it was a good one! Good vs Evil vs Chaos vs Law vs Ninjas vs Pirates vs Light vs Dark vs oh for the bloody love of verses (and sequels and the cash that may come with)…
Short stories are uncomfortable because they may not have a definite beginning nor definite end. They may just trail off from their trailing on to the stage, mid-sentence, mid-stream to make you wonder “WhatwherewhohowwhyWTF?”
We want definite beginnings. We want definite middles. We want definite ends. We don’t want to wait, to think, to imagine the in-betweens. We want clarity throughout, control throughout.
I have slowly, very slowly, learned to love short stories. Because they’re so much more like day to day life.
I loved “The Glass Menagerie” when we read the play in High School. It broke my damn fool heart in long-form.
May I present to you the story that broke my damn fool heart in short form.