I Think I Have the Makings of a Novella

Now I have to figure out why it's a novella.

Novellas from my own collection. Janet Kauffman’s book is full of wonderful short stories, but I’ve included it here because it was this book that moved me to write the story I’m working on now.

I won’t go into the sad story of my intermittent internet again. As hard as it is to bear, I’m getting a little bored with talking about it. Except to say the company that services the island has now had to admit it could be another two or three WEEKS before the issues are resolved. (Replace the damn lines! Just do it!)

So rather than drive myself crazy willing the damn thing to work I’m taking a different route: I’ve resurrected a fairly long unpublished short story and I’m thinking it might make a better novella.

So, fiction writers, tell me if I’ve got this straight:

A novella usually covers a singular timeline or a less complicated sequence of events in a much shorter space than a novel. It’s different from a long short story, in that more happens, but it doesn’t require a novel’s length in order to tell a complete story. It can run between 10,000 and 50,000 words.

Is that right? Have any of you written a novella? I like reading them, maybe more than a short story, because they’re more a tale than a story. I have time to get involved before the whole thing comes to an end, yet I’m not so invested that it takes days to read. They’re perfect for my current attention span, which seems to be getting shorter and shorter these days. (It may be why I don’t want to write a whole novel, either.)

This particular short story has taken on a life of its own and it’s now demanding that I give it some space to grow. I don’t know the word count right now, as it’s still on paper (yes, it’s that old), and I’ve just started transcribing it into LibreWriter (where I can work on it offline). But as short stories go it’s pretty long. I’m beginning to like the idea of turning it into a novella. I just have to make sure that’s what it is.

I’m counting on having fun with it, so when things are dark, internet-wise, you’ll know where I am. And who knows? If it’s going well, I may attempt to serialize it.

This is how it starts. See what you think:

The Flower House

Early on the morning of July 16 old Eli Jansson, on his way home from a full night out, was heard to shout, “Hey!” Thus alerting the residents on Cliff Street, their windows open to the cool night air and most of them still half asleep, that Maisie Kilkonen’s half-house had somehow during the night become covered with flowers.

As the sun rose and the morning progressed, Lilja Jenkins, who lived right across the street from Maisie and had watched the whole thing happen, grew more and more furious at Eli, who, hangover and all, was carrying the story too far. In the end it was as if nobody else would have noticed if he hadn’t come upon the house when he did and yelled, “Hey!”

It became such a thing with him the town for once (except for Lilja) let him have his way, let him go on record, even to the reporter. But Lilja knew exactly how it happened and it irked her no end that she couldn’t tell. Not yet. Not without permission.

The house is the catalyst, but the people become the story, and I still really love them. Except for one. He’s the villain. He’s the reason there are flowers on the house.

I don’t know why it took so long to look at that folder again but now I’m excited. This is a perfect example of life being too busy for these small but hidden wonders that need time and quiet in order to thrive. And then, once discovered, practically beg to be let out.

Maybe my intermittent internet is just the push I need. I can move on to something else for a change and I won’t feel guilty because it’s not me, it’s the Wi-Fi.

So I’ll see how it goes. And I’ll keep you posted. I’ll be around.

Intermittently.

(Let’s see if this will send…)

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