I’ve been writing short fiction. Sort of compulsively. I think it started when I realized my WIP was going TERRIBLYWRONG RUNFORTHEEXITS KILLMENOW — wait. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

No, put away the paper bag. I’m fine. No more WIP thinking.

Anyway, I’ve got three short stories in various stages of done-ness, and I’ve even drafted a guest blog post for echook (the online anthology I sold a humorous essay to – coming out very, very soon!) this week. (I’ll post a link to the blog when it’s up.)

I can see two of the three stories finding homes (God willing!) in a kid lit magazine. The other one? My favorite of the three by far. It’s chock full of sick, twisted humor, strange characters – Edward Gorey illustrations pop into my mind as I’m writing. When I told my husband the premise, he hesitated, then ventured, “So, what market are you thinking for that one?”

That’s because my sweet husband knows a secret about me: I’m relentlessly commercial. I love to write things (stories, essays, novels) I think might actually find a home on a shelf or in a reader’s hands someday. So much so that it can be a little bit tricky to make myself write something for which I can see no viable publication path.

But I’m writing it anyway. Just for the heck of it. Just for the fun. I’ve started to put my faith more and more in the Muse (God, the Creative Spark, whatever), and try to follow where the story leads — if I’m having fun with the writing, of course.

I think it might result in some slightly more interesting things in my work. Of course, it might also result in less publishable things… but I don’t think I’ll worry about that, not with these little pieces.

Do you find yourself thinking about the market when you write? Or are you An Artiste? I always wanted to be one of those, I even bought the beret and black turtleneck. It just didn’t take. Oh, well.

Are any of you writing YA/MG short fiction these days? We could swap! Presto: instant audience. 😉

Oh, by the way? For those of you who have read Gingerbread? A sequel idea has formed in my demented noggin. I wrote a very spooky, very horrific page one. And then I stopped. That way lies madness.  Here’s the root story, if you’re interested;)