I have always loved those short stories with a sting in the tail. Even when I was young, I couldn’t get enough of them, the more I read, the more I felt a deep hunger for more.
Down the years, I must have read thousands, considering I started in the 1970s. Not so long ago I realised that in all that time, considering I’ve been a writer for thirty years or so, in that time I have only ever written one or two myself.
It is for this reason that I decided that it was high time that my own fund of tales came out into the light.
I have had so many great story ideas, which just don’t have enough substance for a full-length book.
Having recently worked on two novels and another in the pipeline, working on these short stories for my Twelve Shards of Glass collection, seems like a blast of fresh air.
The sheer bliss of being able to sit down and work within a smaller, yet perfect environment, with no chapter cross checking to worry about.
It is often said that The Short Story, as a work of fiction is very different from The Novel, well as a writer of both, I disagree.
I know this is only my opinion and I do honestly offer it, as only that. I consider the short form to be in essence a microcosm of the novel’s macrocosm.
Both forms can offer the same truth, depth, scope and vision, but one in miniature. The short form could be a portrait, up close and personal while the long form is the landscape opening up wider possibilities. Just my thoughts.