Read (& Buy) My Novella
I know we’re not supposed to write novellas. My friend Jeff G has some tips on how to keep a short story from turning into one. I should have paid closer attention.
“This,” he said of ignoring his advice, “is how novellas happen.”
To be fair, I wasn’t in my right mind. I had Covid 19 in the spring of 2022 and was confined to the attic where there’s also a bath and my writing desk. I had a pretty good fever going on day 2 and didn’t want to waste it, because I think unusual art can be wrestled from fever if you’re lucky and don’t expect too much. I started writing a story that had been on my mind for years. It was actually a true story, as told by a friend. I didn’t know many of the details, so I used what I did know and began to apply some shading around the edges to fill in the rest.
By the time my fever broke, I had 20,000 words-- almost none of them true. It had turned fairly unexpectedly to fiction and it kind of wrote itself. I was really only reacting, and was as surprised and offended as anyone by the developments.
The central event of the story, revealed in the first chapter, is truthy. The rest of it is recklessly embellished and in fact outright made up. Likeness to any person living or dead is coincidental. For the most part. You know who you are…
Like a Nepenthe is not really a mystery, though there is some intrigue. It’s definitely not a love story, though there is some affection and also even some actual sex. Amid the despair that permeates most of the story, there is hope—and in the end perhaps even some genuine redemption.
Several of the characters are young adults and as a result it sometimes reads like YA. But there’s also more cursing and bong hits, drunk driving and littering than in conventional YA, so I’m claiming my own genre. I am planting my flag in YFA!
In addition to the unsafe modeling, there’s also some spare use of vocabulary that we no longer use today but which was common in 1977 when the story is set. That’s just how people talked back then. They smoked indoors, too! I should know: I Was There. And though I wasn’t driving with a beer between my knees or smoking in the dentist waiting room when I was 12, I was there-- taking notes. I’m a Boomer after all. By three months. I was born this day in 1964.
If we were together I’d let you pick up lunch. If we’d already eaten, I’d suggest you buy me a drink instead. Not gifts so much as courtesies, issued on one’s birthday.
But we’re not together. So all there is left for you to do for me is read my stupid novella.
Not today though! I wouldn’t ask that. You can read the first chapter today, however. On my birthday, as a courtesy to me.
Register for my SubStack. That’s how I’m going to publish this story. I’m going to post it on SubStack, one chapter at a time. So you don’t have to read it today even though today is my birthday. You can read it tomorrow or the next day if you want.
It’s easy and free to register for by following the link below. I don’t think you’ll get tortured too much by SubStack, if you’re someone who worries about registering for stuff. It’s not the dark web or the deep state or the black sabbath or whatever the fuck it is you call it. It won’t ask for any sensitive information and it won’t ask you for money. It might offer the opportunity to give me money, but please don’t do that. If that option appears, just click on NOT NOW or CONTINUE AS GUEST or DEADBEAT CHICKENLICKER or whatever the opposite of PLEDGE is. You can buy me an ice cream sandwich or a lap dance next time we’re together. For now, I’d be super stoked if you just registered and read the first chapter. It’s 2000 words and should take you less than 10 minutes.
I’ll be in Canada if you need me for anything. With the exchange, I’m only like 52 up there.
--jb
(You can now purchase the whole novella in convenient PDF format, by clicking here.)