Behind the Scenes of “The Curse of the Short Story\"

Every story has a story behind it — and sometimes, that’s the most fascinating part.

When I first sat down to write “The Curse of the Short Story,” I wasn’t trying to be clever. I just needed to write something for National Short Story Day.

But what came out instead was a strange, funny, and slightly haunting reflection on what it means to be a writer — especially when your characters start talking back.

There’s a quote I’ve heard from a known authoress (I just can’t remember who now) that said her characters had become her friends.

If you’re not a writer, you probably find that odd.

But if you are, you know exactly what she means.

I know I do. You spend so much time with these fictional people that they do, in fact, become, well, real.

(Maybe that's why that Twilight Zone episode — “A World of His Own,” where the author creates characters who become real — resonated with me so much. It was always my favorite episode, even as a little girl!)

So, if you’ve ever felt like your own imagination has a mind of its own, then you’ll understand exactly where this story came from.

We like to imagine writing as a moment of pure magic — the muse whispering in your ear, words flowing effortlessly, and coffee steaming beside you as you type “The End.”

But that’s rarely the truth.

In my case, I sat staring at a blinking cursor for what felt like hours, wondering what short story I’d write this time. I didn’t want to do another holiday-themed story. (Seriously. I’ve written four in the span of a month!)

Then, somewhere between frustration and overwhelm, the idea struck me: What if I turned that struggle into the story itself?

What began as a blank screen became a conversation — almost literally — between me and my characters.

One by one, they appeared: Fiona, Giovanna, Lyle, and Christiaan, each with their own opinions and questions about why I’ve abandoned full-length tales for short stories.

It wasn’t planned. It was a story that unfolded like an inside joke between me and the writing life itself.

And that’s when I realized something important — sometimes, the best ideas aren’t found by chasing them. They show up when you stop trying to be perfect and just start listening.

Every writer has their “writing gremlins” — those internal voices that second-guess every word or tell you that your story isn’t good enough.

In “The Curse of the Short Story,” those voices became characters.

By giving them names and personalities, I could laugh at them, argue with them, and eventually learn from them.

There’s a strange kind of freedom in letting your creativity get a little unruly. Once I stopped trying to control the story and started following where the dialogue led, it became something far more meaningful — a story about storytelling.

Each character represented something: doubt, ambition, nostalgia, hope.

Together, they turned a night of writer’s block into a reminder of why I write in the first place — not to meet deadlines, but to discover something new each time.

I think that’s what every creative process is at its core: a beautiful, maddening dance between chaos and clarity.

Looking back, “The Curse of the Short Story” wasn’t really cursed at all. It just needed to remind me — and maybe you — that creativity isn’t a straight path. It’s more like wandering through fog with a flashlight, trusting that the next few steps will lead somewhere worth finding.

At its heart, this short story became a love letter to every writer (and reader) who’s ever struggled with their own imagination. It’s about persistence, humor, and grace — the things that make creative people keep going even when inspiration feels distant.

And in the end, maybe that’s the true “curse”: once storytelling grabs hold of you, you can’t ever really stop.

You just keep writing, one page at a time, through every bit of chaos, laughter, and doubt — because deep down, you know it’s where you’re meant to be.