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One of these days—if you are terribly incautious and pick the wrong sort of friends—you are going to run into someone who comes up with what sound like delightful ideas right up until the moment you realize that they were very terrible ideas indeed.
The reason these stories exist is because I’m an extrovert who has trouble saying NO to bubbly personalities with large vocabularies.
I should have realized much earlier in life that short stories were not for me. I should have paid attention the warning signs, like my inability to keep a plot short or my penchant for not caring for short stories at all. I should have listened when my gut instinct was to run away.
But I didn’t.
And someone with a large vocabulary, a bubbly personality, and big, brown eyes convinced me that writing a short story every month to a theme was a wonderful way to pass the time. I’m certain there’s a three-page email in the depths of Amy Laurens’ Sent folder where she eloquently explained why I wanted to do this.
Consider this a formal apology for my basic inability to get through even a 300-word story without a corpse or a killer. Venus was (maybe?) written for Valentine’s Day and Seven Reasons was (probably?) written for Halloween.
Or maybe I have it backward.
Either way, here’s to love, murder, corpses, and doing things with your best friend simply because they are your best friend.