Like the hatchback with automobiles or the cornish game hen in the poultry family, the novella is an interesting, if not stunted, variety. The novella is the lost and forgotten kid in class, the one that would more than likely wander off into the woods on the class field trip. But don’t let it fool you. You never know what that kid could bring back with him from the dark tangles of the forest. In a sense, you could also say the novella is the Hurricane Charley of the literary world – stealthy, unpredictable, and compact, but still able to pack a memorable wallop. Usually described as too long to be a short story and too short to be a novel, the novella hovers in an odd Twilight Zone of literary appeal. One that, I feel, should be visited more often.

Detractors of the novella will say there isn’t enough time to really sink their teeth into the story, the writer’s style, or the characters. Not that there are riots and picketers in the streets chanting, “Bury the novella!” In fact, from what I’ve gathered, many readers enjoy the novella’s size and packaging, particularly in that every word in the story counts. The problem lies in that it has become more difficult over the years to find a proper avenue for the novella to find a home and speak comfortably. For writers, it’s treated more like an avoidance, as if the author is passing by someone they know and don’t want to talk to. So, to elude this social outcast of a title, they put their hand up in front of their face and speed-walk by until they hit the safe neighborhood of 50,000 words.

On the other side of the coin, you have the defenders of the novella that will say small packages can really pack a punch, or that the story is breathable and livable, but not suffocating the reader at such a length. Some pull the ace out of their sleeve and say some of the greatest literature ever written was in novella form, and they drop Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea or Steinbeck’s The Pearl onto the table, winning the hand.

No matter how you see it, I feel every writer, no matter how novice or expert you are in your career, should give it a try at least once (kind of like the way I feel about Comic-Con – I went once, and unless I’m on my own panel, you probably won’t find me there again anytime soon).

Confession Time. Many of my online acquaintances don’t know this about me, but in my circle of personal friends there is a running joke about my writing. After lending the rough draft of one of my novels out for a test run, the term “Pynchon-sized” started to be thrown around quite often around me, in honor of the reclusive novelist of mammoth, six-inch thick books, Thomas Pynchon. I didn’t mind the title. In fact, I reveled in it. It was a first draft, after all, so it was bound to be hefty. But then, I wrote another and it ended up to be the same thickness. After that, Pynchon-sized stuck like a college frat boy nickname.

Interesting how, in the division of online friends and friends of reality, I’m known for two completely different sides of the size spectrum in the writing world. I’ve yet to put out a full-length novel outside of my circle of friends…not that something like that isn’t in the works - *slyly looks around* - but for now, the novella is a good testing ground for indie publishing. Heaving a bolder of a book at my readers right from the start isn’t really my style. When I started this indie odyssey, I never intended to do that, choosing a smoother, less invasive route.

The way I see it is this: when you have a good meal, you start with drinks, appetizers, salad, and buttered rolls before you bring out the main course. The main course is what everyone talks about later on, but they don’t ever completely forget about what emerged from the back kitchen just before it. One person might even say the rolls or the appetizers were the best part, depending on what they ordered! Again, this is what I thought would be the correct way to step into this roll of author, but don’t think that this is the correct way. Because, really, what is the correct way? You won’t know until you try it for yourself and know what is right for you.

Anyway, with the novella, there are various ways to describe the actual length of such a work of prose. There isn’t an official word count that’s set in sacred literary stone that the Library Gods have passed down to us writers. Some say the word length is anywhere between 15,000 and 40,000 words. Others feel it lies between 10,000 and 50,000, while some even go as high as 70,000 words! I agree with the latter myself (not the 70k part, but the 10-50k range), just for the fact that 10,000 words is something of a milestone for a writer. If you’ve reached the 10k word mark in a short story, it gives you two different reactions: either this is starting to be a really long short story and I need to wrap this up or I have too much more to say, let’s see where this takes me over the next couple thousand words or so. With that, the choice becomes yours, writers. What else is cooking on the brain? What other themes or subjects would you like to breach in this story you’ve created? Because then you have other concerns and questions that arise. Is this other theme too big for this story? Should I save it for another, or run with it and with these characters to see where it goes? Could I pack everything I want into this limited amount of words? Will I be happy with it? Will my readers be happy with it?

That is the beauty and fun of writing. A reader may not be in the mood for some gargantuan (Pynchon-sized) novel, and for a writer, there’s comfort in that. They may only want something short and fast, something to pack a punch. Something light to bring with them to the beach or the park or the train. Not every story has to be this grandiose work of genius. You’re not the literary Stanley Kubrick where everything you produce is this staggering, game-changing, illustrious work of brilliance. Then again, maybe you are. And if so, why on earth are you on my blog? Get to work!

To think that every story you write has to be more than just a story puts way too much pressure on you. Sometimes a story is just that: a story, a means of escapism. Just because the story doesn’t have a moral or a central idea that the author believes in and wants to get across doesn’t mean the story is hollow or bad. Did it entertain the reader? Did they get an emotional reaction out of it? If they did, you’ve done your job as a writer, and while short stories and novels can do those things, novellas can too, giving a little more than a short story, but not shoving it down your throat like novel could.

Let me bring it back around to you. Have you written a novella? If so, what has been your experience? And if you haven’t, why not?

Just remember that all writing, great or small, should be enjoyable writing and, ultimately, pleasurable reading. It should never be work. If it feels like work or it’s difficult for you, then it might not be up your alley of expertise. I don’t care for camping or hiking, which is why I’m lacking in the outdoorsman department, but I know that about me. I’m not going to force myself to go climb a mountain and convince myself I like it. Just like I’m not going to force a story to be longer than it should be. Because if it’s not enjoyable, it’s not you.

Now, if you’ll have to excuse me. I’m going to jump in my hatchback and pick up some Cornish hens to gear me up for another novella.