Writing a Short Story When Everything Else Feels Like the Priority
Hey all! It's been a few weeks since my last update. I've been drowning in the usual CEO-author-fitness-enthusiast chaos, but I promised myself I'd get back to posting regularly—so here's to keeping promises.
Recently, a writing coaching client asked me about short stories. She'd been working on a novel for almost three years, and the growing word count (currently sitting at 227,000+ words) was beginning to feel like she'd never reach the finish line.
"What if I wrote something shorter first? Just to feel like I actually completed something?"
We had been talking about her worldbuilding and how she could use smaller glimpses into her fictional universe as social media promotion for the eventual novel. As it turns out, short stories are the perfect canvas for experimentation and quick completion, yet most writers approach them with the wrong mindset entirely.
I explained how I'd written several short stories between all my other projects, and her eyes lit up at the idea that she could actually finish something in days instead of years. It was the writing equivalent of skipping the marathon for a series of sprints—still exhausting, but with way more celebration breaks.
On my drive to the gym this morning, I was thinking about her excitement, and figured I'd compile a quick breakdown of how to approach short stories without making the classic mistakes that keep most writers from ever finishing them.
Baby Steps to Short Story Mastery
As usual, I feel like I'm juggling chainsaws whenever I talk about writing advice. There's the conventional wisdom (which often works), and then there's what actually produces results for most of my clients (which is usually the complete opposite).
Here's the no-BS approach that gets results:
- Start with the endpoint, not the beginning
Most new writers obsess over the perfect opening line, perfect first paragraph, perfect first page... and then stall out after 500 words.
Instead, think about the feeling you want readers to have when they finish your story. Working backward gives you a destination, which means you're less likely to wander through narrative wilderness for eternity.
I usually jot down a quick sentence like: "Readers should feel (melancholy/triumphant/unsettled/etc.) because the protagonist finally (did/learned/discovered/failed at) something important."
- One character + one problem + one twist = one story
Short stories aren't novels. You don't have room for six POVs, three subplots, and a detailed history of how magic works in your universe. You need:
- A character with a specific desire
- An obstacle preventing them from getting it
- A resolution that's slightly unexpected
That's it. Anything else is probably killing your story.
- Set a hard word count limit
The difference between a short story and a novella isn't just arbitrary publishing terminology—it's a completely different approach to storytelling.
For your first few short stories, cap yourself at 2,000-3,000 words. Yes, I know, that seems impossibly short. That's the point. Constraints breed creativity.
I tell all my clients to paste this into a sticky note on their desktop: "In a short story, I don't have room to explain—only to show."
What Nobody Tells You About Short Stories
I don't talk about this much, but I once spent six months working on a single 4,500-word short story. Not because the story needed that long—honestly, I wrote the final version in three days—but because I kept making the same rookie mistake that plagues nearly every writer:
I treated it like a tiny novel.
On the surface level, this seems logical. Both are prose fiction, both need characters and plot, both need to be entertaining. But a short story operates by completely different rules.
In a novel, you can spend 30 pages establishing the protagonist's difficult relationship with their father before revealing how it connects to the main conflict. In a short story? You get a sentence. Maybe two if you're economical with your words elsewhere.
Back when I was in college, I was still figuring this out. I had stretched a simple premise—a kid striking out on her own as a train-hopping hobo from Kentucky to go see the big baseball game in New York City—into a 12,000-word mess with flashbacks, side characters, and extensive worldbuilding about how the railways of 1920s America worked.
My writing group kindly explained that I'd written the outline for a novel, not a short story. When I finally accepted their feedback and trimmed it down to 2,800 words focusing on just the initial discovery and its immediate consequences, I got it done in 72 hours.
Sometimes, less really is more.
Avocado Toast Storytelling
I've been making the same breakfast for the last few days, and I'm enjoying every bit of it: one slice of toast, almond butter, half a chopped banana, drizzled honey, and flakey salt.
It's simple, it takes five minutes, and it's consistently satisfying.
Short stories should be the same way—a few quality ingredients combined thoughtfully. Here's my recipe:
- One compelling character (not necessarily likable, but interesting)
- One evocative setting (specific details, not generic descriptions)
- One central tension (internal or external)
- One unexpected turn
- One resonant final image
Combine with a strong opening line and a satisfying conclusion. You're done.
When you're a fiction writing coach, you hear a lot of "Well, I was originally inspired by The Sandman, but then—"
And that’s when it spirals into unrecognizable shapes. Are you trying to tell me you're writing a dark fantasy? A sprawling epic? A character study disguised as genre fiction? What actually inspired you—the mood, the structure, the worldbuilding?
Be specific about what you're trying to accomplish in your short story. "I want to write something like {Insert Famous Story Here}" isn't a plan—it's a vague gesture at quality without understanding what makes that story work.
When my clients get stuck, I ask them to fill in this sentence: "This is a story about ___________, and by the end, readers will feel ____________."
That clarity alone can turn a meandering draft into a focused story.
The Bravery to Face the Blank Page
I brush off my victories to focus on solving the next problem. In the words of the Canadian saint Shoresy; "It's not that they don't love to win, it's that they don't hate to lose."
And I hate losing. Losing, to me, means failure. I've known failure for just how dark and solemn it can really get.
This applies to writing short stories too. The fear of failure—of pouring hours into something that turns out mediocre—keeps many writers from even trying. But here's the thing about short stories: they're low risk, high reward.
If your short story sucks, you've lost—at most—a week of writing time. If your novel sucks, that might be years down the drain. Short stories are the perfect laboratory for experimenting with voice, style, and structure precisely because the stakes are lower.
You want to know the real secret to writing great short stories? Write bad ones first. Write a lot of them. Then figure out why they're bad.
I'm currently in therapy for the same perfectionist sentiment, don't worry. I wanted to share this as a
Even now, with 9 in-progress novels and a tech startup and all the rest, I still feel that tightness in my chest when I open a blank document. The only difference is I've learned to work through it.
And you can too.
I'd love to hear your thoughts. Until next time, keep writing, keep finishing, and remember: a completed "mediocre" story is infinitely better than a perfect one that exists only in your imagination.
Work with me in writing coaching: https://austinardor.com/writing-coaching
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