How Long Should a Story Be?
It’s like asking, ‘How long is a piece of string?” The answer is, “It depends on what you are doing.”
The first draft of our current project was, in my estimation, ‘Long enough.’ But as I reviewed it, I realized I’d left a lot out.
How Much Do You Put Back In?
Like the question above, the answer is, “It depends on what you are doing.”
The map at the right depicts my main character’s journey. Those of you astute in the use of Google Maps will recognize this is not a driving journey, but a walking one.
But this is not The Long Walk, so the main character’s journey is less important than what happens when she gets there.
In mediās rēs
Literally, ‘In the middle of things.”
This is a great approach for some stories, but to make it work in this one would require lots of flashbacks and painful exchanges like, ‘So tell me, what was the cause of your childhood trauma?’
So, rather than force you, my readers, through that painful back and forth (and because an important piece of early feedback was, “No time-skips”) we’re pulling back a bit and starting about 20 miles from the end. Mostly because a Roman ‘loaded march‘ was 20-30 miles in a day.
Post-Apocalyptic Tie-In
The first draft started in the middle of the action, but as implied above, we’d left out a key component: The Context.
How can this be a post-apocalyptic story without describing the apocalypse and the aftermath?
And who can march 20 miles a day with a 45-pound pack?
As the following excerpts from the story show, the only ones left at this point are the strong ones.
It had been four years since Apophis rained down on the northern hemisphere in 2029. Scientists said for years that it would miss the planet. But they also said it was one large rock, not a cloud of missiles hitting every major city. Everything that wasn’t destroyed was sacked and burned by survivors, who then starved within a few weeks. The only people left are farmers, the wandering mercs, and groups like the Healing Order.
I breathed a sigh of relief but kept looking forward. Then we saw the outer edge of the settlement.
From this distance, I could make out gardens in various states of harvest, solar panels glinting on poles, water collection, and the unmistakable movement of people doing their daily tasks. Smoke rose from a communal cooking area. Children — actual children — played in a fenced area under watchful eyes.
The defensive measures caught my professional attention—concentric circles of cars and other materials arranged as fences, with guard posts at entrances. I also saw signs of an early warning system of flags and reflective material. Whoever organized Nalley’s security understood threats and resources.
And then I saw her.
Standing at the nearest guard post, inspecting something with fierce attention, was a woman whose presence commanded the space around her. She was taller than most men in view, with a straight-backed posture that spoke of discipline and authority. Her hair, streaked with dramatic silver, was pulled back severely from an angular face. She could have been a model in her younger years with those high cheekbones.
“Kess,” Marsh said, following my gaze. “Head of security and Protector with the Order.”
We stopped at the checkpoint, and Kess gave us her full attention. Her eyes found mine, and I felt that chill again as she scrutinized me. What would it be like working with one of the founders of the Order? How would I live up to the reputation of Miss Monroe, her former partner? And what happened to Monroe?
And, as the story has grown, so has the family. Check out the Ruins and Betrayal page for the Scavenger team that surfaced.