Brothers, Nicknames, Divine Recycling, and Terrible Titles - This Week's Story

I didn't post a family story yesterday, but I wrote one. It was about my nicknames in life.

But my nicknames either weren't all that flattering, or I didn't take them well, and it was an uncomfortable post.

When the major nickname of your life is 'Fluff Head', it makes a person stop and think about the reasons why. Even if the nickname is coming from a most honored adversary, such as an older brother.

The reason was lack of focus and consistency.

I waited a long time to write these stories, because I had a lot of difficulty focusing on one thing when I was younger. Truthfully, it's still a lot of trouble for me. Not sure if my kids would have been born if I could have gracefully and bloodlessly opted out at any point, which was my usual habit, but I'm getting better at finishing things. This blog and these stories are my (hopefully entertaining) attempt to finally stick to something and finish it.

Finishing a novel would never have been possible without taking things one chapter at a time...breaking down the bigger project into smaller and smaller pieces.

Plus, the empty white space is scary. It makes my mind turn to white space as well. I don't know how anyone can write when they're facing this:

So before I write, I fill my mind with lots of words - I read widely. And a lot. If I had more time, I would read a lot more than I do. But I like to finish whenever I can, and I don't always have time to do that at this point in my life.

So lately I've been reading short stories. Trying to read at least one a day, or one every other day. When my stuffed head gets full, it overflows into a new story of my own. A process I enjoy very much.

This next story starting tomorrow is based (ever-so-slightly based) on an Anton Chekhov story I found that I liked. It's my habit to look for stories in the public domain, and 'recycle' certain aspects of the story to fit my purposes.

Now, if you're thinking 'recycle' is just a politically-correct term for 'steal', it isn't.

Plagiarism is a bane on society, and the refuge of the unimaginative. I do not plagiarize.

These stories were written almost a hundred years ago or more. People talked pretty funny back then. If I cut-and-pasted straight from the original source material (which I could - remember, it's public domain), the story would still be almost unreadable to most people today.

So I make adjustments, which is what a writer should do. I put the excellent source material into the meat-grinder of my own perceptions and experiences, and out pops something delicious and new.

Tomorrow's story is untitled, at this moment. I might call it, "For the Love of Iced Gulbfish and a Lie". I might not, cause it's long. Anton Chekhov didn't mince words with his titles. His story was called, "A Slander". Isn't that just so crisp and concise?  I still have a lot of good lessons to learn from Chekhov, apparently. On titles especially.

This story is also a side story from my book, Sanctuary, in three parts. It concerns an alien government worker, caught in a web he weaves himself.

Hope you'll tune in tomorrow...and be sure to share if you like these stories, and check out my book. The stories will make much more sense if you read the main narrative. Just sayin'.