A Story Quite Unlike Any Other

The wonderful thing about being a writer is crafting a unique and interesting story that challenges conventions and doesn’t fit the traditional mould. You can go anywhere and everywhere, without fear and rules (yeah, screw those things). Travelling down this enlightened path, though, is both a blessing and a curse. How do you sell a story that doesn’t fit one specific genre?

For the first time in my writing career, I’m wondering what the hell I’ve written. Is it horror? Is it comedy? Is it fantasy? Is it a Christmas tale? There’s no definite slant, so it’s proving incredibly difficult to define it. To give you a brief summary: It’s a story about how chocolate can kill you. It’s not quite Charles Dickens, but certainly far from Clive Barker.

The story’s been shopped around to a few publications and the responses I’ve received have been overwhelmingly positive. Editors have said they love the story, but it’s just not the right fit for the publication. So now what?

Well, I’ll keep searching until it finds a good home. When You Wish upon a Chocolate Bar is weird, wonderful and different from what’s out there at the moment, but I have the utmost faith in its sugary delight.

In the interim, since you’re all so awesome, here’s a snippet from the story:

“I didn’t ask for chocolate, you stupid moron!” Mrs. Montgomery shook her raggedy fist at me. “All this extra sugar’s going to kill me.”

I silently sighed, twisting my face away from her to ensure the old wench couldn’t see my disdain – nor find another damn thing to complain about.

“I hope you know I’m not paying for this.” She slammed down three coppery coins on the counter and pursed her wrinkled kisser. “There. That’s the price of the regular cake, and you won’t get another cent from me.”

“That’s fine, Mrs. Montgomery,” I begrudgingly replied, knowing very well I’d have to cover the difference for the third year in a row. “Have yourself a wonderful Christmas.” I hoped she’d drown in a lake, twice.

Before my manager could have another go at me, I plastered on a plastic holiday smile and motioned for the next customer to approach the counter.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Previous post 10 Rules for Writers
Next post Author vs. Author: Dave de Burgh