I think I'm thinking too much about this short story thing. I need to go back to just writing without worrying about the length until I begin revisions. Otherwise I'm in danger of having the Idea of short story become this looming bugaboo.
My primary concern at the moment is that everything I write sounds the same - like a some variation of journal entry, essentially. It's such an easy, familiar voice to fall into, by dint of long residency.
I've been missing a number of things that I had piled on the stool next to my chair during my convalescence. Their absence became noticeable slowly - a dvd I got from Netflix that I wanted to watch, the letter with the time of my surgery follow-up appointment, a magazine my mother inquired after, my letter opener... We looked pretty much everywhere - took the cushions off the couch (my favorite place to look), moved the chair, checked under the bed - nothing. My apartment is good sized for a studio, but it's still a studio, and there's not that many places things can go to ground, so I was starting to get frustrated.
Finally this evening, as I was doing some desultory tidying, I was gathering up and combining various trash receptacles, and just to be certain I didn't throw this stuff out by accident, I gloved up and went through it all by hand. It wasn't that bad - the one thing about not cooking too much is it makes for fairly inoffensive trash. Lo and behold - success! I found everything that was missing, except for the letter opener. That, Xiombarg has probably carried off and hidden in one of her secret toy caches. But I can cope - I was the most concerned about the dvd, since it wasn't mine.
Turned out my appointment of the other day at UWMC was scheduled for 8:00 a.m., so I made the right decision to haul myself out there at the crack of dawn. I was even there on time, all unknowing. I love it when a plan comes together.