Two hundred stories

Today, I sent out my 200th mini-story in the Once Upon A Time series.

The series began on 11th January 2021, and I haven’t missed a week so far. There’s over a quarter of a million words there, including next week’s story which I’ve already written, covering genres like science fiction, horror, crime, and more. The tales go out via email to subscribers (it’s free, and just one email per week), and I also link them on social media.

I mostly write on Mondays, which is the same day that stories go out, staying one week ahead. If I have a substantial commitment coming up then I’ll write a few stories to keep in stock, scheduling them in advance, so I don’t fall behind. I’ve even recently been doing video readings of the stories, starting way back at the beginning.

Having reached this milestone, here are a few thoughts on producing a body of work over time.

Treat it like work

Work is something that happens on a particular schedule, with a particular goal. The best way to write a story every week is to put it in your calendar. Have a certain time on a certain day when you’ll sit down and do it. Put a reminder alert on your phone. Accountability also helps: tell people to expect the work at a particular interval.

Ideas are plentiful

Inspiration is everywhere, and being an artist is largely a matter of shifting your perspective so that you can see it. The process is simple: just note down anything at all that occurs to you which might be useful, no matter how fragmentary or clichéd or recondite or anything else. The mere act of noting ideas down will condition your mind to notice and produce more ideas.

It doesn’t matter whether you carry a notebook around or type things into your phone. Don’t let an idea go unrecorded, and you’ll quickly start to have more than you can ever use.

Write for yourself

It’s easy to become paralysed by the imagined reactions of others. You might feel that a name is too corny, a plotline is hackneyed, an idea too bizarre, or whatever else. Those things are only problems if you allow them to be. Similarly, it’s very easy to procrastinate when you think you can’t find the right title, or that the story ought to be more “special” if it falls at a significant number in your series, or a hundred other things. That’s a losing mindset.

It’s your responsibility to write for yourself, first and foremost, and it’s also much less arduous that way. I don’t set aside special ideas or topics for big numbers in the series. I pick a title from the story once it’s written, usually with the proviso that it should occur only once in the text. If I’m having trouble choosing a character’s name, I pull up a random wikipedia article and assemble a name that way — checking that it’s not accidentally shared by someone of note.

There’s a smooth way and a rough way through all of these illusory problems, and self-consciousness is always the rough way.

Remember what you’re doing

No matter what else you may tell yourself, producing creative work on a schedule is practice. If you can frame it that way in your mind — instead of, say, the death march of making a work each week — then the whole endeavour changes shape. It becomes playful, and experimental, and liberating, and without undue consequence, just as practice ought to be. You’ll also more readily benefit from the inevitable improvement you’ll notice in your craft.

The concept of writing a mini story every week sounds intimidating, perhaps. The alternative concept of sharing your writing practice, or such, feels very different. You’re allowed to practice. You’re supposed to practice. You wouldn’t be much of an artist if you didn’t.

Two hundred little vignettes, or explorations, or fragments or whatever they are, is a lot. It’s a significant number. I’m grateful to those who read them every week (and the subset who email me more often than not, with their thoughts or feedback!). Even without the readers, though, I’d still do it — albeit perhaps not so regularly. So thanks to me, too, in the guise of my optimistic Monday-Morning Self, for doing the actual work. The person I am for the remainder of the week really appreciates being able to start with a small win. I can highly recommend it to you.

If you enjoy this stuff, then that’s fantastic, and I’m glad; I hope you’ll stick with me, and occasionally help out by buying one of my books. And if you wish you could do something like this yourself, then I have good news: it’s eminently possible. The best time to start was 200 weeks ago; the second-best time is now.

Let’s keep going.