B. Fowler

And so he got up in the #dark and came home in the dark. Still, he lacked for nothing. The brightness from his children's smiles was enough. #vss365

He clicked “save” and leaned back. The out-of-office reply was utterly professional, and, as he read it one last time, he couldn’t help but admire the final #touch: a stock image of a cruise ship on the ocean. #vss365

It wasn’t just a house. It was where she grew up. She stood in the doorway of her childhood bedroom, and the emptiness #ached. #vss365

Her head knew it was a bad idea. So did her gut. And her #bones. Only her heart lagged behind, stubborn and unconvinced. #vss365

When he smiled, his eyes went #lambent, and for a moment she believed him. Then she noticed they weren’t looking at her at all, but were drifting over her hair and shoulder. #vss365

She was being haunted by a #ghost, but a distinctively cruel one: it was her pre-baby self. The specter was glowing, firm, and annoyingly well-rested, hovering over the wreckage the children had left behind. #vss365

Outside the window, traffic #thrummed on, a low, continuous sound that softened rather than sharpened the day. It blended with the light and the stillness until everything felt gently suspended. Nothing urgent pressed in, not yet. The city seemed content to hum along without him. #vss365

He reached for a cookie, stomach growling, yet something felt off. He knew he’d been trying to #obfuscate the real reason he was hungry, unwilling to face whether it was boredom or loneliness. The soft bite didn’t solve anything, but it let him feel something anyway. #vss365

At first, it was a #quiver in her right hand, subtle enough to ignore. She held her coffee cup tighter than usual, pretending the tremor wasn’t there, pretending her children couldn’t see. But she could feel it in every bone and tendon, a betrayal that whispered she was slipping, bit by bit. #vss365

He lingered on the #cusp of confession, rehearsing truths he had buried for years. The room smelled of dust and old paper, as if the past had been expecting him. #vss365

Hotcakes at the end times Another satisfied customer.

Post was heavily inspired by www.nature.com/articles/d41...

Breakfast was perfect. Syrup traced a careful #drizzle across the stack of fluffy pancakes. Somewhere beyond the walls, the world was ending, but breakfast was perfect. #vss365

She stood in the kitchen, suddenly #unmoored. There were no small voices calling her name, no small emergencies demanding triage. The evening stretched ahead of her like open water. Grandma had the kids, and for a little while she could drift until she remembered her course. #vss365

She didn’t want this to break her. On the other hand, she’d also prefer it not #bend her into something unrecognizable. #vss365

The deadline #loomed in the background of his life, not unlike an unpaid actor who refuses to leave the stage. It coughed meaningfully whenever he turned his attention elsewhere. Still, the deadline held its position, certain that consequences would provide the final applause. #vss365

It was hard to explain how she got into this situation, but it simply started as a cute, #kooky idea with no real forethought. #vss365

His #delivery was an utter mess, both his hands and voice were shaking. She didn't seem to notice, and said "yes". #vss365

Strings carried the water, woodwinds breathed the steam, muted tones held the leaves, and soft percussion rang like porcelain touched by warmth. When the #symphony ended, she decided to make another cup of tea. #vss365

It was a quiet look, one she hadn’t noticed at the time, but recognized now with a delayed clarity. That should have been the red flag, a moment that should have #spooked her into stepping back, into asking questions. Instead, she dismissed it as fatigue, much to her detriment. #vss365

In summary, writing so many stories is good for me and I'm having fun. I'm hoping I have something that I'm proud enough of to submit to a magazine by the end of 2026.

I need to spend time on my novel(s) too. All of my writing since September has been these short stories. I don't have a ton of time, but my 15-30 minute writing sessions need to involve my novel(s) as well. /

I only count three of my short stories. I decided to use AI to assist me in October. I used it many times. Earlier this month, however, I noticed that I was getting more and more frustrated with using it. My stories weren't how I wanted them, and I didn't have the skills to fix them. /

Speaking of depressing... I am middle aged and my brain has not done a ton of creating writing. Short story writing is stretching my brain in ways that it isn't used to be stretched. This. is. tiring. I think this is normal and fine and my brain will get stronger in this area. /

Writing so much has revealed more of my faults more quickly than working on my novel(s). For example, my conversations are boring and stilted. This is kind of depressing, but has made me pay more attention to the craft from the authors I read. /

I've also found that some of my ideas that I have when I start the story don't actually carry me through to the end. I want to be able to keep some flexibility and drop ideas that don't seem to be very good. /

I do not think I can write a short story for each week of 2026 (52 short stories). A story a week would mean that I need to be satisfied with a story after 15-30 minutes a day in four to five days. I've found that I want to spend more time on some stories. /

As an update for my four followers, I have written three (bad) short stories since I had this impulse.

Writing more short stories is going to be my key goal for 2026.

Here are some of my thoughts on writing a short story every week thus far /

By the time the decorations came down, whatever warmth they had brought with them was already thinning. The holiday cheer and laughter didn’t #travel well, and had gotten lost somewhere between Christmas morning and the long stretch of winter that followed. #vss365

She found herself measuring the distance to rest inch by inch, as though the night had turned the floor into a long, unforgiving terrain. She wanted to #jump into bed, but instead she was crawling. #vss365

His new diet had left him with no real victory. He could eat the lunch he wanted and #regret it later, or he could eat the lunch he’d packed and regret it today. Either way, remorse would be served right on schedule. #vss365