This year I entered the NYCMidnight 2021 Microfiction Challenge and discovered… microfiction is difficult. I never realized until I was actively writing for this competition exactly how few 250 words really are. I am, however, really starting to get a handle on my writing process. It’s frustrating, but it seems that I’m a burst-writer. I spend a lot of time brainstorming and forming stories in my head. I’ll still be writing stories, letting them percolate in the coffeemaker of my brain for a long time before I’m actually able to write them down.
Why? I have no idea. It’s extremely frustrating. There will be weeks where I want to do is write. Then there will be weeks where I can’t force myself to write, even if the story feels fully-formed in my brain.
Stress definitely has something to do with it. When I’m really busy at work, I don’t have the mental energy a lot of the time to write. I know this is a common problem, so I’m not alone. I’m working on it! I need strategies to decompress and refill my creative reserves faster.
Anyway, here’s my submission for this year’s Microfiction Challenge. I’m absolutely going to do this challenge again next year, I think!
My inspirations for this spoopy tale!
Ghost Watch
Grimalkin tensed. His body coiled like a spring and his blunted claws dug into the rug, worrying for purchase. After a moment, and a wiggle of his hind quarters, he launched himself across the living room, running, keeping his body ducked down low. Time to hunt. Time to play. He, as all cats, could see the ghosts of the human dead. Other animals don't leave ghosts, but humans always linger when they shouldn't. New Home wasn't specifically haunted, but Wanderers did appear occasionally.
His quarry floated, luminescent in his superior feline vision, though human Mother could not see the specter following her as she walked between rooms. Grimalkin leapt into the air, his claws sunk satisfyingly into the flesh of the trespassing spirit. It howled with a sound like wind through a tunnel and discorporated into nothingness. But the Wanderer would return. Grimalkin went to fetch Brother Charles. Backup was needed.
Grimalkin grumbled a subvocal warning as he approached older brother Charles's lair. Brother awoke with a chirp, blinking sleep out of his golden eyes. It was Grimalkin's shift to patrol; Charles was resting from scaring off this particular ghost earlier in the day. Together, we can drive it off for good. Brother Charles stretched languidly. He yawned and flexed his sharp claws. Grimalkin licked sleep out of Brother Charles's eyes. Charles returned the favor, smoothing back a tuft of Grimalkin's wild mane. They grumbled together — an agreement — and turned as one to await the Wandering ghost's return.