Critical Thinking: A Novel Idea

So, about four weeks ago, I brought what was to be the first section of my 3000-word telepathy story to writers’ group. They finished reading it and whatnot, and Ev turns to me.

“You have to write this as a novel.”

No I don’t. It’s a short story. I’m going to sell it to Analog or something for hundreds of dollars. I don’t have time for a novel that will never get published anyway and I’m not interested in writing.

I took it home and realized I didn’t like it. The ending was too romanticky. If romanticky is a word. So I started rewriting the middle. It came to 6000 words. And it wasn’t finished.

Fine. It’s a novelette or whatever.

I took the second half to writers’ group.

“This will make engineers cry!” KC said.

Huh? Whatev. Right now my writers’ group is composed of three Christian fantasy writers and me. Their experience with the secular SF industry is limited at best. (As if I’m such an expert.)

“You have to write it into a novel,” Ev said. “It’s perfect for this time. This is such a relevant issue right now.”

No I don’t. It’s a short story. I have three—THREE—half-novels that have been abandoned, waiting for me to pick them up again. I have a new job. I have a child who can’t figure out that lying is the thing you don’t do and homework is the thing you do. I have a husband who’s so busy he doesn’t have time to plan his retirement ceremony. I also have leadish-type-things in song this week and another next and an insane syncopated guitar part to get down. A guitar part that the worship leader refuses to write down because I should just “feel it.” (I swear I am not making this up.) Oh, and a bunch of Boy Scout things I need to actively ignore and another thing I’m just starting to get involved with that I’ll tell you about later.

Remember my New Year’s resolution? Yeah. Sorry, Ev. Turning this short story into a novel is one of those things I’m gonna have to go ahead and disappoint you on.

I took it home and finished it. A bit too sappy, but at least it wasn’t a romanticky. I took the last section to writers’ group.

The silence was deafening.

“Where’s the rest of it?” DK asked.

“There needs to be more,” Ev said.

“Don’t worry,” said KC. “Once you start thinking about it more, the plot will just fall into place.”

Whatever. What do they know about science fiction short stories? I’m just sayin’. None of them even write short stories. So there.

Just for kicks and giggles, I took my laptop to Panera this morning and decided to brainstorm. Forty-five minutes later, I emailed Ev.

I don't hate when you're right in general terms. I have no problem with you having deep insight into the world and come up with the correct answer. I just hate that you're right in this particular case. I'm tired. I thought I was done with this story. But, really, how can it be done when Brandon hasn't gone to the state institution and "rescued" by a Fagin-type character and forced to live on the streets and steal from normals who refuse to see him? And then...

But I guess you'll have to wait. That's your punishment.

She emailed back:

Aaaaaaahhhhhhh! Yes!!!

I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.

Big smile!

I emailed back:

I hate you.

No, I don’t hate you.

I hate you a little.

She emailed back:

I'm ok with that. ;)

She posted on her Facebook page:

I love it when someone realizes that I am right and have been right all along.


I hate her.