One Never Knows

I started a new story today, something that popped into my head (I at first typo-ed ‘heart’ and maybe that’s more truthful) inspired by a short story collection I read recently.

On the surface, the story is about devils and angels and the worth of mankind.  My gut says there’s more to the story than that, but I’ll have to write it to find out what.

That often happens with me.  I start out writing a story or novel thinking I know perfectly well where it’s going to end up, but along the way something says, “But what about….” and the narrative takes a turn I never imagined.  Often that direction is better than the one I’d first intended.  I like when that happens.  It can be frustrating, but it’s also a lot of fun getting a glimpse of the subconscious.

Many years ago, I wrote another story about a devil and an angel meeting on a subway train.  It was a pretty bad story.  It had its good points and the gem of something fine was there, but I couldn’t reach it.  I did not have the skill to chip away in the right manner.

I think I have that skill now.  At any rate, I’m going to find out.  The characters are different this time around and maybe that’s all that was needed.  In any case, they have something to tell me.   I will proceed with caution and care and if I’m very lucky, I might overhear what it is they have to say.


About Melissa Crandall

Longer ago than I care to admit--although I will--I cut my writing teeth on fanzines and media tie-in novels. Since then, I've moved on to narrative nonfiction, speculative fiction, and essays. I write to explore and understand the world around me, the things I see and experience nearby or from a distance. If I shake myself up, cool. If I shake you up, even better. Not gratuitously--what's the point in that?--but to set what I know, or think I know, on end and realize, "Well, doesn't it look different from this side!" My work is neither sexually explicit nor graphically violent. Let's face it - your imaginations will come up with things far worse than anything I could write, no matter how descriptive. Besides, it's just not my thing. I live in Connecticut with my supportive husband Ed, a cat named Ruby who might just think she's a dog, and an epileptic Australian shepherd named Holly who isn't quite certain anymore who she is, except she knows she loves her mommy.
This entry was posted in Angels, Connecticut, Essays, fantasy, Fiction, Melissa Crandall, self-publishing, Speculative Fiction, Writer, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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