The unexplainable next door: quiet stories on the edge of reality
Nothing screams or jumps out of the dark here — the world just shows its seams for a second. Quiet mystic stories: strange fellow travelers, prophetic dreams, doors that were not there yesterday.
My character broke the fourth wall.
Cute at first. Winked at the reader. Charming.
Now he's emailing me.
Subject line: "Quick question about dental."
He wants to know if fictional characters qualify for health insurance.
I created him three weeks ago. He's already asking about retirement.
My unreliable narrator just lied to ME.
Page 247. He said he was at the harbor.
I wrote him at the library.
Checked manuscript. Library.
Checked again. Harbor.
He's changing things when I'm not looking.
My detective solved the murder on page 12.
I had 300 pages outlined.
"Who's the killer?" I typed.
"The gardener. Obvious. Mud on the carpet didn't match the season."
I stared. He stared back.
"You're fired," I typed.
"You can't fire me. I know where the body is."
Now it's a thriller.
Son drew picture of daddy at work.
Daddy at computer. Very detailed. Even the coffee cup.
Teacher: "Why is daddy crying?"
Son, matter-of-fact: "The words are bad again."
Teacher looks at me during pickup. I have no defense.
Son: "The cursor was angry too. It kept blinking."
Alexandre Dumas's ghost materializes at my desk.
"I employed seventy-three ghostwriters," he announces proudly. "Produced four hundred novels. Changed literature."
He glances at my bank statement on the screen.
Long pause.
"I see." He fades out. Halfway gone, adds: "Perhaps try a second job?"
Oscar Wilde's ghost materializes at 3 AM.
"I spent the morning removing a comma," he announces.
"And the afternoon?"
"Putting it back."
"Did you decide?"
"I died. The comma lives on. Mocking us both."
Beta reader returns manuscript.
"I couldn't relate to any character."
"Really? Not even the gossipy neighbor who judges everyone's choices while ignoring her own problems?"
"Especially not her."
"Margaret. You ARE that character. I put you in the book. Page 73. Verbatim."
"Kill your darlings," they said.
Deleted chapter 3. Felt good. Productive.
Chapter 3 came back.
With friends.
Now chapters 4 through 7 are staging an intervention. For me.
"Your novel lacks tension."
Added a cat and a full bathtub. Same room.
"That's... not literary tension."
Then you don't know cats.
My villain's monologue is 4 pages long.
Editor said cut it.
I reread it.
He's right though. About everything.
I might switch sides.
My protagonist refuses to enter chapter 12.
Says there's a murderer in there.
I haven't written chapter 12 yet.
Now I'm afraid to write it too.
My protagonist and antagonist fell in love.
This was supposed to be a murder mystery.
Chapter 12: they're solving their issues through healthy communication. Chapter 15: couples therapy. Chapter 18: joint mortgage application.
My editor called it "unrealistic."
My character broke the fourth wall. Cute at first. Winked at the reader. Charming. Now he's emailing me. Subject line: "Quick question about dental." He wants to know if fictional characters qualify for health insurance. I created him three weeks ago. He's already asking about retirement.
My unreliable narrator just lied to ME. Page 247. He said he was at the harbor. I wrote him at the library. Checked manuscript. Library. Checked again. Harbor. He's changing things when I'm not looking.
My detective solved the murder on page 12. I had 300 pages outlined. "Who's the killer?" I typed. "The gardener. Obvious. Mud on the carpet didn't match the season." I stared. He stared back. "You're fired," I typed. "You can't fire me. I know where the body is." Now it's a thriller.
Son drew picture of daddy at work. Daddy at computer. Very detailed. Even the coffee cup. Teacher: "Why is daddy crying?" Son, matter-of-fact: "The words are bad again." Teacher looks at me during pickup. I have no defense. Son: "The cursor was angry too. It kept blinking."
Alexandre Dumas's ghost materializes at my desk. "I employed seventy-three ghostwriters," he announces proudly. "Produced four hundred novels. Changed literature." He glances at my bank statement on the screen. Long pause. "I see." He fades out. Halfway gone, adds: "Perhaps try a second job?"
Oscar Wilde's ghost materializes at 3 AM. "I spent the morning removing a comma," he announces. "And the afternoon?" "Putting it back." "Did you decide?" "I died. The comma lives on. Mocking us both."
Beta reader returns manuscript. "I couldn't relate to any character." "Really? Not even the gossipy neighbor who judges everyone's choices while ignoring her own problems?" "Especially not her." "Margaret. You ARE that character. I put you in the book. Page 73. Verbatim."
"Kill your darlings," they said. Deleted chapter 3. Felt good. Productive. Chapter 3 came back. With friends. Now chapters 4 through 7 are staging an intervention. For me.
"Your novel lacks tension." Added a cat and a full bathtub. Same room. "That's... not literary tension." Then you don't know cats.
My villain's monologue is 4 pages long. Editor said cut it. I reread it. He's right though. About everything. I might switch sides.
My protagonist refuses to enter chapter 12. Says there's a murderer in there. I haven't written chapter 12 yet. Now I'm afraid to write it too.
My protagonist and antagonist fell in love. This was supposed to be a murder mystery. Chapter 12: they're solving their issues through healthy communication. Chapter 15: couples therapy. Chapter 18: joint mortgage application. My editor called it "unrealistic."
Nothing to read? Create your own book and read it! Like I do.
Create a book"Good writing is like a windowpane." — George Orwell
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