#29: your monthly microfiction
The Circleville Letter Writer strikes again!
Two days ago I turned thirty-three. Don’t ask why, but I love a number divisible by 11, so I’ve been extra hyped.
Because my birthday’s in January, I’m surfing that new-year energy still. Anything’s possible, baby! Sky’s the limit! And this year, I want to be as congruent as possible with my big visions for my life.
While I was working on this month’s postcard art for my patrons, I listened Ologies, this podcast where Alie Ward interviews experts on stuff. For the Cosmology episode, she interviewed this wildly smart astrophysicist named Katie Mack. As Dr. Mack talked about the vastness of the cosmos and how much we don’t know about the literal space we inhabit, I got struck (as I do every few months) by the rocking notion that life is blissfully, beautifully meaningless. Whatever I do now, odds are folks won’t remember it in a hundred years, let alone a thousand.
It could be unsettling to think, but I find it so deeply comforting. When put that way, your life becomes truly your own; nobody else lays any claim over your sliver of time on earth.
Which is maybe why, at the beginning of the year, I did something I never thought I’d do: I asked for a demotion. Lately, I’d been on this practical-online-writer-job trajectory, safe and reliable.
But I don’t want to climb an administrative-to-editor escalator. A thousand years is less than a blink in cosmic time. My life is short. I’ll die before the century’s up (which is fine and beautiful!), so I might as well fill my hours with paintings and writing stories or screenplays and sculpting weird shit for my living room.
I think when we look at it that way, we could all stand to sculpt weird stuff more often.
But enough of waxing philosophical. I got some fun stuff for you:
💌 the voting results for this month’s prompt and next month’s historical topic,
💌 bite-sized fiction,
💌 the art I made my paid subscribers/patrons this month,
💌 and my monthly creative news.
🗳 The votes are in
Patrons and subscribers voted for this month’s postcard-fiction prompt:
Action: eavesdropping
Word: flood
Inspiration: the Circleville Letter Writer
This story thrives with context and pulls specific details from the true history, so if you haven’t yet, read the article first:
🛼 The story - Consequences have actions
Here’s the card I wrote on:
And here’s the story:
The neon here’s too much, isn’t it? And the music; they got Madonna so loud, my teeth’re vibrating. At least the rink’s got beer. Belinda’s working the drive-thru, so I’m Mr. Mom tonight. It’s Joey’s first time getting invited somewhere by the popular kids. He cares about that kind of thing.
Tomorrow’s two months since Paul went to prison. Nuts, right? No, man, he didn’t do it. Remember how he brought us donuts? And how that kid on the bottling line showed up with a green mohawk? Paul could’ve dragged him, but he didn’t. Him trying to off Mrs. Gillispie? I don’t buy it. Besides, the letters are still…
Yeah, Joey’s OK on skates. The Gillispie girl, though, she’s worse than Bambi out there. That’s Joey passing her now with some girl he digs –
Oh, shit. Did she just knock the Gillispie girl on her ass? Brutal. You catch what she said? Yeah, I think it was “slut.”
Teens are feral, man. And the Gillispie kid’s got it rough. You saw those signs the writer stuck along the bus route, right? Course you did. Real sick shit. Poor thing. Not her fault her mom’s a cheater.
Joey’s a good kid. He’d be alright if…
Can you keep a secret? Yeah? Next beer’s on me. OK. Last Labor Day, my cousin took me to Chicago and I had this crazy – I’m talking crazy – night with some woman I met at a bar. She liked the dirtiest –
No, I didn’t tell my wife. Maybe I should’ve. But it was only the once. And you ask me, it’s bozo: we’re supposed to love one person our whole lives and never get the itch? Come on. Technically, cheating saved our marriage. I’m serious! After that night, I’ve been more in love than ever. I guess you don’t realize what you got til it’s in trouble, or whatever. Her finding out? That’s my proverbial flood, the real end times for me. These days, we’re solid as this skating rink.
Damn, the Gillispie kid’s crying. Don’t look head-on, but Joey just ditched the popular dipshits and went to her. You catch what he said? Yeah, I think it was “sorry about them.” That’s my boy, helping her up and everything. Damn right. He’s one helluva kid.
Hey. If my Chicago thing got out, he’d be alright. Right?
You think so? That’s good to hear. Real good. Cuz – and can you keep another secret? I got a letter today. One of those. No bullshit! That’s why I don’t think it was Paul. I mean, how could he’ve…
Doesn’t matter. I’m screwed, aren’t I? What’re the odds of only getting one letter? And when my wife…
Yeah. And Joey? Look at him, skating with the Gillispie girl. He’s a good kid. If it gets out that I – I don’t know.
But hey, maybe another letter won’t come. That could happen, right?
Right?
✒️ Your turn!
Now’s my favorite part: you write a short story yourself (500 words or less) using the prompts above, then share it with me when you’re done. You can reply to this email, post it in the comments, or call me on video chat and sing me the whole thing.
(As always, if you’re feeling stuck getting started, here’s an article I wrote on microfiction fundamentals.)
🥀 Next month’s theme
This month, y’all went ape for one topic more than the others - all but one of you chose the same thing! For our most definitive win to date, we’ll learn about…
🥀 Emily Dickinson’s love affair with her sister-in-law 🥀
Or, as most straight historians like to say, we’ll learn that “they were friends.”
💝 A month in postcard art
This month, love is in the air for my subscribers and patrons! Even if I make the cards in January, they’ll cross international waters just in time for Valentine’s day. Feeling ripe with nostalgia, I made y’all gold-foil candy conversation hearts.
Because gold-foil is so textured - and I used three layers of paper and four different media to make each one - photos don’t do them justice. Here’s a video instead:
Cute as pie.
🌍 Updates in my creative world
I am a quarter-finalist for PULP Literature’s novel competition, the First Page Cage Match! My novel was among the top eight selected for the next round, and as of right now, I’m still in the running.
The contest has a Readers’ Choice segment - there are two days left to vote, so please vote for me! It takes less than 30 seconds and would make me a very happy angel :).
Thanks to Ally Mitchell’s brilliant editing, my novel, The Year We Got Away, is basically finished. I don’t think the fact that I’m actually done has quite sunk in yet. I’ll be querying come February, so look alive, folks!
My first zine’s almost here! These past few weeks, I’ve been editing it furiously; the zine’s not just reprints of every short story I wrote y’all in 2023, but polished versions of each one. They look nice. Patrons and subscribers will receive them in the mail next month, but physical and digital editions will also be available to buy on my website soon. Eeee!
Lately I’ve been turning my home into an art project. From the sculpture above to making plaster-based planters, lamps, and mirror frames, I’m embracing the concept of home design as art. Life is unfathomably short and I want to live in a space that excites me - and I’m not gonna wait til I’m rich to have my dream home. A box of plaster is 5€, cardboard is free, and acrylic paint is plentiful. Weirdo sanctuary, here I come.
That’s all, folks. If you enjoyed the Circleville Letters mystery and the fiction that came with it, refer your friends so you can pick next month’s themes, too :).
Thank you for being with me into 2024, my friends. I have a good feeling about the year to come.
All my love and stamps forever,
Nikita, your Snail Mail Sweetheart