This is a category for pieces I started on but didn’t feel that they really worked. There are any number of reasons for which I’ll put a story into this category, but one thing will be universal: these stories are unfinished and at least in my mind, unsatisfying.
This post marks the introduction of something new: the Non-Working Story Idea. From time to time I’ll start a story because an idea hits me, but for some reason before the story is finished, let alone polished, it just peters out. This is the first such story in this category, and I’m a little bummed to say that it’ll probably never be finished. There are several reasons for this. First, I just don’t know enough about the topic. This story began as an exploration of a girl who comes out to her parents as being lesbian only to find herself the target of hatred and abuse. While I do feel that the topic has some meat to it, I’m afraid it just isn’t something I have a good connection to in any real sense. I can imagine things, of course, but to really put this into a place where it pays proper respect to the subject I think something is needed that I just don’t have.
More than that, beyond an imagined description of this girl’s feelings and the harsh ending, I didn’t really have too much of a story to tell. One of the cardinal rules of writing, I believe, is simply that you ought to have something to say. Art in any form is ultimately about communication. If you paint a pretty picture via any medium, be it text, paint or polygons, if it doesn’t communicate something-an idea, an emotion, a position- I think it’s hard to really call it Art. ArtWORK, certainly, but that’s a mere technical exercise and is not the same as what an Artist seeks to achieve. While I feel my work is still far too amateur to even knock on the door to the realm of what i would call Art, I feel that I must nevertheless pay respect in my own way by acknowledging when a story I’ve begun is simply outside my range. This one is, and it fails as Art for these reasons.
Out and Down
It had felt good in those early months of discovery. Susan couldn’t help but smile as she considered the feeling of Elaine’s warm skin against hers, their fingers intertwined and their eyes locked. She’d been scared at first, of course–who wouldn’t be? But as the hours and days wore one into the other she began to feel something she had never felt before: she felt right.
Their friendship had blossomed from the simple fun of long conversation and nearly absurd lists of thoughts and ideas in common, to long days of classes that turned into early evening study dates. Then one day to her surprise, a loving hand caressed her long brown hair while soft lips pressed suddenly against hers, and what they revealed in her was not revulsion or upset but simple warmth and passion and a longing she hadn’t even realized was in her.