The Thin Man Waits

When I started out with the intention of writing a story each day for a hundred days, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Publishing in real time gives you nowhere to hide. And so here I am, calmly seated on the floor, writing a letter to those of you playing along at home. This is my story. I have nowhere to hide. The thin man has to wait.

You see, I know what happens to the thin man (the protagonist in my latest flash fiction series) but I can’t write it just yet. The pen won’t work. The keyboard is dead. There is a forced hiatus. Even if you sat me down to watch another Jean-Pierre Jeunet film, I still don’t think you could squeeze a drop of fiction out of me tonight. Maybe I like the thin man too much to let him go, and I know each new instalment brings me closer to the end. Maybe I’m not good enough to close the deal: the build-up to the denoument is getting to me. Maybe both those things are true.

In any case, I press on and weave my own story into the narrative. Consider this a third dimension in the thin man story. In Part 1, we have the Dreamer, Parts 2–5 give us the Dream, and now we have the Author, tapping at her keyboard. It’s an intersection of fiction and non-fiction. It’s a load of guff if you ask someone like The Third Pharaoh of the Elusive Order of St. John the Dwarf. But it’s part of the story now.

And you, the Reader, you’re part of this story too. The Author bids you good night and wishes you sweet dreams of thin men following trails of ants.

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