I think it’s time for me to make a confession.

I’ve been unfaithful. I’m as guilty as a puppy with her snout stuck in an empty biscuit tin. 

Now look, I know I’m supposed to be wedded to my beloved novel, Synthetic Empires, my one true love, and all that. But in recent times, I’ve been ghosting that once-blossoming manuscript, sneaking away to daydream about another fictional concept. It’s not a full-blown creative divorce, I should add. More of a temporary hiatus situation while I flirt with something new for the time being. 

My creative energies have found themselves scuttling off in a slightly different direction over the past few days, moving toward that of short fiction. I’m currently on something of a secret mission. Well, it’s not officially classified, or anything like that. Sure, I’m peeking over my shoulder and covering my iPad screen before opening the project folder, but that’s just me being dramatic more than anything else. No one in a trench coat has handed me a dossier, or anything like that. Still, I’m keeping the details under my hat for the time being until I’m sure these stories won’t fizzle into nothing before they’ve had a chance to hit the page. 

I’ve been plotting a roster of these mini-fables, creating a literary pick ‘n’ mix which ranges from 3,000 to 10,000 words. The genres of these stories varies depending on the entry. There’s a cheeky sprinkle of horror in some, a dazzle of romance in others, and a sizeable dollop of sci-fi to help glue it all together.

It’s all very fresh and exciting, although here’s the thing; shifting back to short fiction after months of long-form fiction has reminded me that brevity is a lot more challenging than first meets the eye. If anything, it can be a pain in the backside.

You’d think writing less would be easier, at least that’s how it might look on the surface. But trying to set up an entire universe, introduce a cast of loveable leads, and resolve their traumas within the space of a lunch break read? The requirement is enough to make me sweat like a polar bear holidaying in the desert. It’s a sprint more so than a marathon, and if we’re being frank, my creative cardio needs a bit of work.

But I really do adore the format. Returning to it has really reminded me how good it can be for the soul to write shorter works of fiction from time-to-time. Why might that be? Well, I find it lets me exorcise my demons, one bite-sized chunk at a time.

As I mentioned back in chapter 30, my fiction is often a product of my own neurosis wearing a swanky disguise. I have to insert my own troubles and thoughts into a story in order to make it come to life. In a full-blown novel like Synthetic Empires, my anxieties tend to shift and change over the years it takes to write and edit the project, turning the book into a sprawling mind-map of my varying mindsets over the years. Short stories, however, are more laser-focused and time specific. They capture whatever particular worry or thought happens to be living rent-free in my noggin that week.

This has often resulted in many of my short stories turning into a form of self-care. A sort of DIY complementary (and hopefully more entertaining) therapy to run alongside my actual therapy sessions. I take a real-world stress, dress it up in metaphors and subplots, and suddenly I’m not just ranting at my diary about life, I’m world-building. 

In recent months, I’ve been encouraged to use fiction as a form of self-care, utilising my love of language to help address some of the thoughts and ideas lurking within my skull. I’ve been doing this in the form of diary writing and letters of myself for some time now, all of which has been immensely beneficial. And now, I’ve decided to open up these therapeutic scribblings and express them in a more public space. Don’t worry, I’m not about to publish my diary. Goodness me, the world is not ready for that level of neurosis. But I am ready to turn the literal into abstract; the angst into ideas. 

I’m calling this little experiment of mine The Nightmare Diamond series.

It’s a working title, but it has a nice ring to it, I do think. It’s intended to be a collection of genre-hopping tales catalyzed by my own memories, fears, experiences and daily struggles. Nothing explicit enough to become over-exposing, of course. More a case of me using my life story as a spark to light the fuse on a handful of explosive mini-narratives.

Plus, let’s be honest, this is a good form of training for the main event. Short stories can be terrific ways of improving long-form fiction writing. Tackling smaller canvases forces me to be more disciplined, to better cut the waffle, and to reach points in my stories before my reader falls asleep. Think of it as me engaging in some interval training to improve my marathon performance. This won’t stop me from finishing Synthetic Empires, it will help improve it.

So, the plan over the next few weeks and months is to skip between these bite-sized nightmares and my novel. It will keep my easily distracted brain from stalling, plus it will ensure that even if I’m procrastinating, I’m at least doing it with my fiction-writing cap firmly fastened to my head.