Even though I have only published a couple of short stories that are, quite frankly, most likely to be no more than "early tries", nowadays I fancy myself as a writer and as such, I look at the world in a different way than before. Of course, as you can see, I have written novellas (or "short stories" if we want to stick with English terminology), but they were in Hungarian and besides one of them, I consider them either abandoned or potentially a good candidate for a rewrite or a "retrofit" in another genre. This is a whole new word for me that I truly wish to explore and stay close to its borders, while probably keeping a kind of outsider perspective, experimenting as opposed to follow the norm.
The feeling of not belonging is nothing new; ever since I was able to tell my name, I have been feeling more like a visitor than a member of any given group. To this day, when I'm along with my oldest friends, I can't help but to submit to the feeling of loneliness, not out of need, but out of habit. This has become a sort of tradition to me: I am usually only spectating and cooperating instead of actively participating. There are exceptions, of course, that are far and between, and while they are naturally occurring events, they give me an the feeling that I am out-of-character, rather than feeling normal for being myself.
To get to the good stuff, I cannot help but to see the influences of practically any medium I am consuming at any given point of time, or certain memories after being triggered by random noises. For example, (and now I began throwing working titles at you,) "Robo-Dino-Transforicles" is obviously influenced by Transformers, Power Rangers and sci-fi in general. Other titles, like "Lara", was born after certain life experiences, regardless how mundane they are. "Generic title" is an exception, it began as a simple writing practice where I asked for random words to use as "guides" -- I am 1300 words into the story and I can't see the end of it. It'll be crazy. "Lost Alone" is inspired by Falling Skies' first episode of season five with the aesthetics of Fallout 4's pre-war setting. And the list goes on.
Right now I began yet another story, titles 'Twas truly idiotic, which is inspired by Professor Marston & The Wonder Women, Masters of Sex and possibly A Million Ways To Die In The West (not in topic or genre, but by how it handles the whorehouse). I do not know what will come of this story, it might end up in a limbo as Generic Title or pseudo-abandoned as The Forgotten Tome of Bohrfoeld (an old-ish draft before I began writing L'amore d'Agna). But if I mention old writings, there's one that I really want to do something with, but I have no idea how to get around it: that is "Tales o' Yer Talyiah". I have a concept and I briefly mentioned it in vi.log in which it was supposed to be a... you'll see if you read that very experimental thing. It was originally just that, a piece in that realm, but the idea is, in my opinion, good enough that it deserves at least one piece on its own. That concept was also inspired by... something. I know it was, but I just can't recall what it was.
"...And so shall we begin." The voice of Mr. Soft echoed from the lecture hall's faraway walls. The auditorium was scarcely populated, students sat far and wide, as it is customary during a pandemic, which meant that the professor's question were answered by more scalps than usual. Sleeping in classes were not unheard of, but when you take away the possibility of misbehaving, one cannot make matrix arithmetic interesting enough for the masses to keep them awake...
it's been a while I've written a real one of these
not that anyone would read it
I was playing with my cat after feeding her, when I felt a small breeze from behind. I did not think much of it, the windows were open on both sides of the room; must have been the wind outside, I thought, but my cat looked there and her eyes were fixated on something. I turned around, expecting nothing out of the ordinary, alas I saw a...
They were sleeping when the lights came through their window. They were not blessed with great wits or the gift of logical thinking. What they were given was great eyes instead: they had a condition called abnormal tetrachromacy, which meant that they had limited infrared-vision. When I learned about it from them I, as I have been always fascinated by colors and color deception, had to ask...
This is chronologically the first short story I publised in English, even if it wasn't the first I began writing.