On Unfinished Short Stories


My deadlines are over and now all I want to do is write, but now the question is (the eternal question) which of my unfinished short stories should I work on?

There’s the surreal one about a cat hunt through the dark neighbourhoods of Palermo; the one about strange Santiago customs like coffee with legs, and a slip into the city’s 70s time-warp; or the mysterious one about the disappearance of a girl from a highway-side bar in Beijing amidst the flashing headlights of rushing cars; the one about the forgotten stories of a communist age which flit about the Cismigiu gardens in Bucharest, dancing through the Linden trees to the tune of ‘Hotel California’; the one about thousands of dead jellyfish washed up on the shore of St Andrew’s and the disastrous, fractious heat of a holiday between two couples; or that one about empanada beach picnics and the making a human chain to save a son from drowning in the sea; and maybe even that other one about walking your heart break through the streets of Barcelona and finding that you knew how to heal it all along.

Who knows which thread to pick up and follow…


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