There are so many good books out there. I’m reading more now than I ever was, and my to-be-read pile keeps on growing. Loads of these books are by new authors, too—people who are publishing independently, without the backing of big-name publishers, and many of them deserve far more recognition. Every time I finish a great book, I tell myself I should review it. It’s a way of spreading the word, and of doing what I can to help these fantastic authors.
Problem is, by that time I’m already onto the next book. And when I turn on my computer, I’m distracted (if that’s the right word) by stories I’m working on, or finding things to write about on this site. Somehow, I never get around to these reviews.
But I intend to. And, as a start, I’m going to let you know about books that have impressed me. Every couple of months, I’ll pick a few great reads and write about them.
So here goes.
Space Team (Barry J Hutchinson)
Comedy books are hard to pull off. It’s tempting to simply run from one joke to the next, leaving the plot to fend for itself. Yes, Douglas Adams got away with this in his earlier stuff, but his writing could carry it. Other authors who use comedy, like Terry Pratchett, work just as hard (harder?) on the things that make a story great—plot and characters. The comedy comes out of the situations and how the characters react.
Barry J Hutchinson does this with Space Team. It tells the story of Cal, a wise-cracking petty criminal who is imprisoned in a cell with a cannibal. And things get worse when he’s abducted by aliens and forced to join a gang of reprobates on a mission to save the galaxy. And, of course, things don’t run smoothly.
It could have been a mediocre story, but there are enough turns to keep things interesting, as well as a feeling that things are not quite what they seem. The start promises intrigue, and it is clear that there is more to this simple mission than meets the eye. See, Hutchinson has a plot that could work for a serious book. The humour just adds an extra layer.
The fact that he has a main character who reverts to insults and comedy as a defence mechanism helps. So too does the way Hutchinson doesn’t over-explain things. Just like Pratchett, much of the comedy lies in what isn’t on the page. He also uses running gags, but again, by putting them in the mouth of a character who is trying to wind others up, they don’t become annoying.
I really enjoyed this book, and bought the next two in the series as soon as I’d finished it. I hope they carry on the same high standards.
Mr Ruins (Michael John Grist)
I’ll start by saying that this book isn’t for everyone. Looking at reviews on Amazon, a couple mention that it is confusing, and I can see this. From the very first page, we’re thrust into an incredibly strange world, where the main character goes diving in the minds of others, and little is explained outright (in fact, much is left unexplained throughout the book). The main character (Ritry Goligh) is being chased, or something, but then there is a secondary story, with a group of marines (possibly) battling across this world that feels like something out of Lewis Carroll, only with deadlier intentions. Who these marines actually are, and how they connect to Ritry’s story, is left hanging for much of the book.
But there are hints, and I think I picked up on these fairly quickly. And the strange terms that are thrown in with no explanation, such as ‘lag’—it is possible to understand them in context. Besides, I’d far rather read a book like this than one that slows down with paragraphs of exposition every few pages. The fact that there is no explanation shows how confident Grist is in his writing, and because of this, as a reader I trust him. I might not quite get what’s happening, but I’ll follow, because I trust he’ll deliver in the end.
Another facet of this book that many will find off-putting is the tense—it’s written in first person present (so we have things like ‘I walk into the room’ rather than ‘I walked into the room’). That did jar with me initially, but I soon grew accustomed to it, and I can see how it works in the book’s favour. It makes things seem both more intimate and more distant (and I’ve no idea how Michael John Grist pulls this off), which suits the character perfectly. Add the lack of explanations, and it does feel like you’re in Ritry’s head (or maybe someone else’s).
Mr Ruins himself is a shadowy character, and at the end I was a little disappointed—I felt he wasn’t developed as well as he could have been. And I’m still not sure I totally understand what happened to him (even after reading the second book—hopefully the final part of the trilogy will help me there). But that’s only a small negative. With this book I enjoyed the ride (even if, like a decent roller coaster, it sometimes felt like I couldn’t follow what was happening), and as with Space Team, I bought the rest of the trilogy immediately I’d finished it.
So, not for everyone, but if you’re looking for a mind-bender, and are prepared to try something difference, check it out.
The Shell Collector (Hugh Howey)
I’ve come to Hugh Howey a bit late. I read Beacon 23 last year, but I still haven’t got round to reading Wool. I really should, though.
Judging from reviews, this book is different to the rest of Howey’s work. That’s mainly down to it being a romance. And before you switch off, let me say that this isn’t a genre I’m familiar with, or one that particularly appeals. I’ve read a few, and I’ve been unimpressed.
But The Shell Collector is different.
To start with, the prologue is one of the best pieces of writing I have read in a long time. It would stand up as a short story on its own, and I was almost tempted to stop when I reached the end, as I couldn’t imagine how Howey could top it. There is so much emotion and back-story conveyed in a short time, and it’s a fine indication of how good a writer he is.
But I carried on, and the book became intriguing. I didn’t know I was reading a romance, because the build-up to the relationship is slow, and evolves around a mystery, as journalist Maya Walsh gets an invitation to interview Ness Wilde, one of those responsible for the destruction of the oceans (at least, as she sees it). The story’s set in the near future, and shows the effects of environmental change without resorting to ‘end of the world’ catastrophes, and without beating us over the head with ‘look after the planet’ stuff. Instead, the world is what it is, and Maya (and the other characters) just have to cope with it. It’s like a real-world dystopia, if that makes sense.
The characters are very believable, as are their interactions. And the mystery element really keeps things moving, as Maya finds out more about the real Ness Wilde (and his grandfather). I don’t know if I totally like either character, but they are interesting and real enough that I wanted to find out more, especially about Ness’ secret.
And this was one let-down in the book. When this secret is finally revealed at the end, it felt rushed. Maybe Howey thought that giving it more time would have impacted on the romance, or maybe it was never supposed to be the driving force of the book. I don’t know. But I would have preferred a little more meat to the mystery side of the story.
But it’s still a very good book, written by someone who definitely deserves the success he’s enjoyed since Wool got so much interest. Where Beacon 23 hides its seriousness behind a playful exterior, The Shell Collector is earnest throughout. It shows how Howey can change his writing to suit the story he’s telling. It’s a fine example of character-driven story. I’ll definitely be reading more of his books.
So, three books that have impressed me over the last month or so. I know they won’t appeal to everyone (a comedy, a book that seems to purposely make reading difficult, and a romance), but the writing itself is great in all of them, and I’d recommend all three.
And now I’ve got more books to read. Some promise to be cracking stories, others are things I’m not sure about but I’ll give them a go anyway. Some will leave me unimpressed. But others will blow me away.
I’ll let you know which ones do that for me in a couple of months.
Another short story for you. This one’s called The Customer Is Always Right. It’s based around another minor character from Dark Glass. I like Jimny, the cafe owner who’s everyone’s friend, but I always thought he had a really tough job. When everyone is out for number one, how do you serve them all without them killing one another—or worse still, killing you? So I wrote this to show some of the things Jimny has to put up with.
I want to do more with this character. He did turn up in early drafts of both Dead Flesh and Deep Water, but I had to get rid of those parts, much as I hated to see him go. But he does make an appearance in a new book I have out soon (although you’ll have to pay attention). More on that later, though.
For now, check out the story, and let me know what you think, either in the comments or directly (you can e-mail me at twiain@twiain.com). I’d like to know what you like, but also what I can improve on.
And don’t forget there are more stories here.
A couple of weeks ago, I was listening to an old Writing Excuses podcast (I tend to save them up and listen to them in bulk). This one was exploring unconscious bias in books, especially gender bias. The hosts of the podcast argued that having characters (especially female characters) fulfilling stereotypical roles could be damaging, reinforcing negative norms, even (or especially) when this stereotyping was not a conscious decision of the writer. At one point Brandon Sanderson (one of the podcast hosts) explained how he’d chosen to go against the norm by having a strong female lead in his first Mistborn book, but that he’d unconsciously written all the rest of her team as male.
Write To Market. This book details how he wrote his Void Wraith trilogy with the aim of hitting as many popular space opera tropes as he could, writing a book that would appeal to as many fans of that particular genre as possible. He initially wanted a powerful female lead, but his research indicated that most successful space opera books had a jaded, slightly older male as the main character. So he altered his character to conform to the popular trope.
Writing to market is nothing new. There has always been a strong push for writers to ‘give the readers what they want’. Popular wisdom suggests that the best way to discover what they want is to examine popular books in specific genres. And if the readers seem to want a male lead, then there is pressure on the writer to provide this.
Yet, as the Writing Excuses team argued, this could easily strengthen a gender bias that is not particularly healthy. So is it wrong to follow all the tropes?
Of course, not all genres lean towards male leads. Romance, for example, is predominantly written by and for females, and tends to focus on the female characters. But there are tropes in romance that are possibly unhealthy too. One of the strong tropes is the happily-ever-after—despite all the misunderstandings and anguish throughout the story, the couple get together at the end, and all is well.
Does this really matter? After all, this is fiction. It’s escapism. If it makes readers feel warm and fuzzy inside when they reach a nice happily-ever-after, where’s the harm?
But fiction can be powerful. Stories stick with us in a way simple facts don’t. Stories settle deep in our minds. We use stories to understand the world, and to justify our actions.
There are many who argue that there is a link between violence in the arts and violence in real life. There are those who argue that what you see leads you to think and act in a certain way. There are those who feel that erotica and pornography (and yes, I do realise there is a distinction between these two) are unhealthy because of how they change the viewer/reader’s viewpoint and attitudes.
I’m not going spend time on these arguments here. Personally, I think most of them are far too simplistic. I can recall when there was a furore over an Ozzy Osbourne song back in the late eighties. Supposedly, the song was responsible for a teenager taking their own life, and there was a vocal minority who denounced the song as a danger to young minds (ignoring the fact that the song, ‘Suicide Solution’, was actually a song warning of the dangers of drink). But when I saw Ozzy perform this song live, as far as I could tell everyone in the audience was enjoying themselves.
But I do believe fiction can be powerful. Not in the blunt way that those who call for certain types of books to be banned, but in more subtle ways. Reading too many happily-ever-after endings could give rise to false expectations—not in the logical part of our brain, but deeper down. An excess of ‘love conquers all’ stories might lead someone to subconsciously believe that all they have to do is meet the right person and all their troubles will be over. Likewise, someone constantly reading stories where female characters are kick-ass, attractive, feisty and confident might start believing that they have to act like that if they want to be ‘a real woman’. A constant diet of films and books where the male and female leads end up in bed together can lead to an unrealistic view of male/female dynamics. And the James Bond character who always gets the girl? Maybe that’s subconsciously reinforcing the idea that only a certain type of man can have these kinds of conquests (and that there is no repercussion from these episodes).
But this is what we have come to expect. Even if we don’t recognise these as tropes (or are even aware of the word), we have come to see them as parts of certain stories. The mysterious wizard will be an old man. The world-weary detective (so often male) will have past demons that drive him to drink. The ditzy-but-attractive female will end up winning the day. The couple who start off at each others’ throats will end up in each others’ arms.
So many tropes. So many expectations. And because we are used to them, we feel cheated if they are missing, or if they are messed around with (unless this is done really well). Those who write are as susceptible to their pull as anyone else, and the tropes rise unbidden from the subconscious. The tropes reinforce themselves, becoming stronger all the time.
Maybe we only expect them because they exist in so many of the stories that we love. Repetition can easily lead to expectation. Ask Pavlov and his dogs about that.
So are tropes bad? Should writers avoid them?
Tropes are tools. They are ways of understanding story structure. They are ways to explain why certain stories ‘work’. But they are only tools, nothing more. And a tool cannot be good or bad. It simply it.
Any value assigned to the tool comes from how it is used, and why.
And this, I believe, is why tropes can get a bad rap. It is why so many people have a bad reaction to phrases like ‘write to market’.
Yes, it is possible to follow what has been done before and craft a story that hits as many popular tropes as possible. Yes, it is possible to write a story purely with an eye to how it is going to perform financially. But doing so does not always (often?) produce a satisfying book. It might follow the tropes, but that doesn’t make it good, or worth reading.
Fox’s Void Wraith trilogy works not because he follows the tropes, but because he wrote good stories good stories. He didn’t write space opera purely because his research told him it was a fertile genre, but because he loves these kinds of stories. Yes, he altered his story to make it more market-ready. But he knew what he was doing, and he still focused on the basics, which was to write as good a story as he could. He used the tropes as a framework, and around this he wove the story he wanted to tell, and the story that excited him.
And his strong female character? She’s still there. Maybe not the central character, but still one who’s always close to the action, and pretty important to the story. Oh, and she’s a cat-based alien, and I’m pretty sure that isn’t a feature that came up in his write-to-market research. That’s pure Fox. And there are plenty of times in the book when the secondary female character is far more able than the ‘expected’ male lead.
So what’s the answer to the problem with tropes and bias? Ignore the trope and tackle issues head-on? Write books where everything is ‘perfect’, and spend more time to get that right than anything else? Or give the reader what they believe they want, because if they don’t read it from you, they’ll read it from someone else anyway?
Quick fixes and excuses.
The real answer? Don’t let tropes lead the story, or the characters. Use the tropes, don’t let them use you. When you write, question the decisions your characters make, or the choices that are thrust upon them. And when you read, question everything—maybe not enough to stop reading if you’re enjoying the book, but think about what you’ve read when you’ve finished. Don’t take everything you read lying down. Don’t take everything the author says as gospel, because they might not have been totally aware of how all their characters are acting. Question everything.
This is fiction, and it’s powerful stuff. It has the power to make us question what we believe, about the world and about ourselves. It has the power to force us to confront our own biases.
Fiction has the power to make us think, and to make us change.
Can you trust what you read in fiction?
Of course, fiction is not real. Stories, be they in books or on screen, are fabrications. But to draw us in, they have to have some believability. They have to have some kind of truth.
I found myself thinking about this recently, after I’d finished reading Dan Brown’s DaVinci Code (for me, one of those ‘must read at some point, if only to decide what I think of it’ books.) It reminded me of a couple of other books. The first was something that I’m not going to identify here, as I have very few positive things to say about it. The second was the late Umberto Eco’s Foucault’s Pendulum, which I read years ago and keep on meaning to re-read.
These three books are connected by the fact that they all deal with topics that could be considered religious conspiracy theories. They all use biblical passages and other quotes to back up some fairly far-out ideas.
I’m not well-read in this area, and I have not done any of my own research into any of the ideas in these books. Some of them sound vaguely plausible, and others sound far too extreme. But in reading (and thinking about) these books, I started to see a pattern in which theories I found more believable.
The book I had downloaded years ago was okay, but nothing special. There were plenty of sections that could have benefited from an edit, and I was often pulled out of the story by the writing—not necessarily bad, just not that good. And the theories came across as unresearched, as if the author had made up the ideas himself, then used a few quotes in an attempt to give them some validity.
The Dan Brown book was well-structured and, while I wasn’t drawn in to the writing or the characters, the story rattled along at a good pace. There were loads of details, not only on the wild theories but also on places and historical events. And the book came across as well researched. If the ideas were off-the-wall, it at least felt as if the author had run them past others with more knowledge. In short, I trusted the ‘facts’ in this book far more than in the first one.
And then there was the literary Foucault’s Pendulum. Eco is undoubtedly intelligent. Even though the book is tongue-in-cheek, and reads as if Eco is having fun with all his ideas, the ‘facts’ come across as far more believable, even the throwaway ones.
So what do we have here?
I’ll repeat again that I have very little knowledge of religious conspiracies and such like, and have no easy way of telling which theories are from reliable or semi-reliable sources and which are obvious fabrications. Yet even knowing this, I instinctively trust those ‘facts’ that come from someone with a more scholarly demeanour. I instinctively trust someone who appears as an authority.
I think this is part of our nature. If someone talks or writes well, then we are more likely to take their words at face value. If they appear educated, we automatically assume they have done their research. If they tell their tale with skill, we are more likely to be drawn in and accept it as a possible truth.
Conversely, we are less likely to trust a story told by someone who shows deficiencies in their use of language. If they do not understand how to use speech marks or commas, we are predisposed to dismiss their thoughts as poorly conceived. If their story does not flow well, we are more tempted to believe they are making it up as they go.
It’s why news reporters are generally well-spoken. It’s why so many ‘entertainment’ and ‘reality’ shows on TV still use teams of script-writers and editors. It’s why voice-overs on documentaries are done by those who enunciate clearly. If it were some geezer talkin’ common, like, we’d fink he were makin’ it all up, ‘cos he don’t understand nuffink, yeah?
Of course, once you realise this, it’s easy to question everyone—especially those who talk or write well. So maybe that poorly written book with the wild theories is closer to the truth, and Umberto Eco is simply having a clever laugh at the gullible masses. Maybe we should trust those who come across as less skilled or less intelligent, because they can’t lie as subtly or be as creative with their words.
Or maybe I should simply read these books as fictions, stop trying to analyse them, and enjoy the stories.
Yet stories, to draw us in, have to be believable. They have to be written or told in a way that makes us trust that they might be possible. If they fail to convince, they have failed as stories.
It’s the aim of all story-tellers, be they authors, after-dinner speakers, politicians or comedians, to have others believe that their tales could be true, no matter how ridiculous they are.
So, can you trust what you read in fiction?
Maybe that’s the wrong question to ask. After all, a good story does not have to be true. It only has to be believable.
They found the offering after a night of heavy rain.
The holiday season of goodwill’s well behind us now, so it’s time to return to something darker. I have a new short story, called ‘The Offering‘, free to read here. Hope you enjoy it.
If you want to read more, I have twelve other short stories on the site. Check them out here.
This has been the year I’ve put my writing out into the world, although I’ve been working on the Dominions books since the start of 2015, and so this is really a look back over two years. I’ve been keeping track of the time I’ve spent on writing (and other aspects of ‘getting stories out there’), and so I can see how I’ve managed to carve out more time each week, and how I’ve increased the time I’ve spent on ‘non-story’ tasks like marketing (including writing stuff for this website). I’ve kept a track of my wordcount, and I’m faster now, which is helping me get first drafts done quicker (although, in some cases, the editing is taking longer). I managed to do 50k in a week over NaNoWriMo, which isn’t too shabby.
And I’ve made a start on the whole marketing side of things. I have this website. I’ve got covers that I like for the books, and I’ve had them edited. I’ve spent time on the product descriptions. I’ve been listening to podcasts and reading up on all aspects of writing and publishing over the last couple of years, and I’m starting to put some of this knowledge to work.
In some ways, getting a book out into the world is a major achievement, but in other ways it isn’t much at all. Many others have done just that, especially with the ease of independent publishing. One book is nothing. There are people producing a book each month. There are others making a killing with Facebook ads, and building a career from a few titles. There are independently published writers who have gone on to become not quite household names, but definitely people with strong, healthy reputations and careers.
Yet they all started from that first book. And now, with three books out, I’ve made a start. I haven’t made a great deal of money (in fact, this whole venture has cost me so far), but I didn’t expect to earn back expenses—not yet, anyway. I’m learning to split this ‘other job’ into two sides—writing and marketing. The writing is the fun, creative part—producing a story and refining it to make it the best I can. And the marketing side is what is needed to get it out into the world and help others see it. I have started to see that, at least in part, I am running a small business. Very few businesses make a profit over their first few months or years. They have start-up costs that need to be recouped (in my case, the cost of covers and editing, as well as expenses around the website and so on). They take time to grow. Many fail.
But, with writing, I have an advantage. I can do this around my day job. At the moment, anything the books bring in is a bonus. And, even if they never pay back their expenses, I can still enjoy writing.
That’s the fall-back position, though. I want to do what I can to make the business of writing work for me. I need to build on what I’ve done this year.
My Aims For 2017I want to finish 2017 with more books, more readers, and a bigger platform. Obviously. But that’s far too vague to be a target, so I’ll narrow it down:
Looking back over that list, there seems to be a lot to do. But that’s for the whole year—twelve months, fifty-two weeks. I’ve made a start, and I know I can find time for different tasks. I look forward to these quiet times of the mornings, with nobody else around and the sky still dark outside, and getting up early is now a habit that I can use.
I know I can achieve everything I’ve set out above, and I’m already anticipating the end of the year, when I look back on how far I’ve come. And yet, I’ll still have a long way to go.
See, this isn’t a race to the end of the year. This whole writing and independent publishing thing isn’t a case of reaching the end and stopping. There is no end. It’s a constantly evolving process. I’ve made a start, proved to myself that I can write and put that writing out into the world. Over 2017, I need to capitalise on that and improve, so that I can do even more in 2018.
And that all starts today.
With the growth of e-books, something interesting has been happening with story and book length. With the ease of putting out ‘books’, many people have tested the waters with short stories, but others have gone for something longer—not quite a novel, but more than a short. And it’s not only independently published authors who are getting in on this. James Patterson is now releasing his ‘bookshots’, billed as ‘stories at the speed of life’, and I’m sure other big names will follow soon.
This is nothing new, but maybe now it’s time is right.
Why now? Let’s take a step back.
A few decades ago, when dinosaurs roamed the plain, there were places known as bookstores, where these strange physical objects called ‘books’ could be bought. Often, these bookstores stocked nothing but books, and many didn’t even sell coffee. If you wanted to read, you’d enter one of these establishments, browse the shelves, select what you wanted, then pay at the till, handing over these strange notes and scraps of metal that were called ‘money.’
It took time to choose the right book. Those in charge of these establishments would place titles they wanted to shift face-out, or even on separate displays. The reader would look for authors they knew and trusted, or maybe they’d be drawn in by an interesting-looking cover. They might pick up a book and read the back, or may even open the book (very carefully, making sure they didn’t damage the spine, because these were delicate, precious artifacts) and read a section.
And usually there were multiple books that looked promising. So how was one to choose, especially when they might all be available for the same price?
There was one fall-back position—look at the size of the book, either physically, or (if you were slightly more canny) at the page numbers and print size. And then you’d go for the largest book, because you got more for your money that way.
Maybe that’s being a little blunt, but the size of a book was one way publishers tempted readers, and it was rare to find a short book for sale. Yes, there were exceptions, but they tended to be classics like Of Mice And Men or Animal Farm, or one-offs by big-name authors that publishers were confident would sell.
Apart from these oddities, you were limited to novels or collections of short stories.
Fast-forward to today, when so much reading material is digital. How long is a book now? However long it needs to be. And I think this is great.
I like novels. I like having a story I can get my teeth into. But there are times when I want something else.
Short stories are great for reading while having a coffee. They are wonderful ways to fill ten minutes while waiting at the dentist (because, if your dentist is anything like mine, the time of your appointment and the time you are seen are never the same, and you don’t want to sit there doing nothing).
Then there are continuing stories. Look at any e-book retailer, and you will find series after series. This is, of course, nothing new, but it’s far more prevalent now. You can read a novel, then continue with another about the same characters, in the same world. You can be immersed in that world for far longer. If the series is good, your commitment will be rewarded with twists and turns you never saw coming. And independent authors, who can bring out new volumes at a fast rate (because they don’t have to deal with printing presses, or ensuring a good position in book stores), can keep readers of these ongoing sagas happy with multiple releases over the year.
But there’s one book length that, I feel, has benefited most from the e-book revolution, and that’s the novella. Technically, both ‘short books’ mentioned before fit into this category, as do things like The Old Man And The Sea. Publishers generally haven’t been too keen on novellas, mainly because they take almost as many resources as novels, but readers aren’t generally prepared to pay the same price for such a short book (why spend the best part of £10 or $10 or whatever on something barely over 100 pages when you can get a 500-page epic for the same price?). But with e-books, this problem goes away.
I’ve noticed myself reading more and more novellas over recent years, as I’ve switched from print to e-ink.
I’m one of those strange people who would rather read than watch TV. I do enjoy the occasional film, but I’d still prefer to relax with a book at the end of the day. And a novella is the perfect length for an evening of escapism. 25000 words, or just over 100 pages, normally takes a couple of hours to read, the same time as the average film. It’s a great length of time for an escape, and when I put the book down (okay, turn off the e-reader), I feel satisfied—I’ve had a complete story. I feel like I’ve been watching a film in my head, and now I’m emerging into daylight, my eyes adjusting after the dark of the cinema, sad to have to return to reality, but happy for the couple of hours I’ve been entranced by the story.
The comparison between novellas and films goes deeper. Many successful films have been based not on novels but on novellas (and short stories). In most cases, a novel contains too much to condense into a couple of hours on screen, and huge chunks have to be abandoned, or characters and events merged. But a novella is just right. Think of films like The Shawshank Redemption and Stand By Me, both of which came from Stephen King novellas. In fact, King’s written quite a few novellas, although they tend to turn up in collections like Four Past Midnight and Full Dark, No Stars, rather than being available on their own.
Also, some stories simply work better as novellas. I’ve read quite a few novels that have contained obvious padding, simply to make them fit a certain length. I’ve read short stories that felt rushed, and needed more time and space than they had been given.
Of course, there are other lengths of stories, from flash fiction to ongoing epics that never seem to end (and I realise that statement could be negative or positive, depending on preferences and the content itself). And with digital reading, they are all equally available.
So, if I want to escape for a couple of minutes while I wait for an appointment, I can grab a bit of flash fiction. I can have a coffee and take twenty minutes over a short story. I can spend an evening with a novella, or a few evenings with a novel. Or I could dedicate a few weeks to a series, delving deep into a new world.
Story length is no longer defined by physical parameters, or limited by cost and return-on-investment. Stories can truly be as long as they need to be.
And that has to be a good thing.
