I have come to this conclusion:
I cannot read straight narrative anymore. When I hit phrases that explain, that justify, that preface, that highlight, that draw lines for me from A to B, I just can’t go on.
Don’t worry, you have done all the right things. I know, I know, that is how some short stories work & I am sure they do work for a lot of readers, they just aren’t right for me anymore. Please don’t cry. Please.
Look: it’s not you, it’s me. You are a fantastic you, I just need something else. I need more poetics in my prose. I need more descriptive prowess. I need more writing that plummets & swirls & dives & takes me to unexpected places. I need something damaged & hurt & broken open & spilling. I need something with antlers with teeth with butterfly wings & birds nested in beards.
I am sorry to do this to you, the new year looming & all, but really, I swear, it’s time. You will find a new reader. I know you will. You will find a reader who wants the regular world handed back in easy words with care-taking instructions. You will find more audience than I can imagine, & I will applaud you silently from my corner.
Enjoy the ride. See you sometime down the line.