Even in a short story it can be remarkable how much the general direction of a tale can change from the start to somewhere in the general vicinity of the finish. I started off with the goal of a quick, fun project from the perspective of the stereotypical 18 year old air headed bimbo who falls for the suave older man down the street… but it seems I’ve ended up with a story about a stereotypical 18 year old bimbo who falls in love with the suave older man down the street, his enormous penis, and the fine line between pleasure and pain. That’s not where I thought I was headed, but it seems that’s where I’m ending up.
I could go back and rework the last few sections and tone it down a bit or try adjusting the front end to even things out, but I sort of like the idea of stories just kind of organically going wherever they go. Plot diagraming and outlining might work for other people, but I’m never really sure where the story will take me until I’m in the middle of writing it. Even then sometimes I don’t know for sure until I get to whatever feels like the last word of the first draft. It could be artistic style or laziness and lack of writing discipline. Either way, it’s not something I spend much time worried about.
It’s all terribly inconvenient sometimes. That’s my polite way of saying one way or another this even shorter than usual short story is going to require exerting even more editorial influence than usual to grind off the rough edges. I vaguely remember a quote where the writer apologizes for a letter being so long because he didn’t have time to make it shorter. It seems that may not have been an exaggeration. Writing short is hard work.