erika, I think you need to really consider the scope of the story. Do you have secondary characters who could be developed, provide a subplot? How complicated is the protagonist's conflict?

Also, remember that a novel can be a couple different lengths (although you should always be thinking at least 70,000 words, unless it's YA, and sometimes even then).

Plus? As hard as it can be to get a novel published, there are still a LOT more outlets for it than short stories, these days.

I could probably come up with things; I've been thinking about some of these characters for a while.ETA: But I have thought I was going to attempt another novel before, and those efforts have failed to gel.

Mik hated it from the first day. The center room. And it hated him back. The fake gravity buzzed in there like old fluorescent tube lighting, and smelled like burnt static. Made him sick. So he stuck to the fringes, got himself useful with insulation and wiring. So what if he'd been hired as a socializer. So what, out here? Truth was, the center room was always overcrowded, even when no one was there. Someone's left behind something right there in his face, every time, reminding him of all the other people who stopped there, every moment of every day.

Very atmospheric, Sox. Sorta reminiscent of some of Cherryh's stuff. Or maybe Bester.

thanks Beverly - can you tell me a little more? My brain went different directions with that.

My Center

Once I though life’s purpose was to live as long as you can. But these past few years I’ve seen so much death that I’m learning to accept, though not without pain, that my death is beyond my control. Now I understand that what counts is living well. Of course I will die before I’m ready. I will leave unfinished work behind—otherwise, I’ll have stopped writing, and that’s not acceptable. But with whatever time I have, I will live well. Every day I will love, I will tell my stories, and I will seek knowledge. That is my center.

Mik hated it from the first day. The center room. And it hated him back. The fake gravity buzzed in there like old fluorescent tube lighting, and smelled like burnt static. Made him sick. So he stuck to the fringes, got himself useful with insulation and wiring. So what if he'd been hired as a socializer. So what, out here? Truth was, the center room was always overcrowded, even when no one was there. Someone's left behind something right there in his face, every time, reminding him of all the other people who stopped there, every moment of every day.

The sentence fragments remind me a lot of how Cherryh writes SF--particularly the Chanur series, and the whole Downbelow Station stuff--several series touched at the Station. Merchanters Luck--which while not her best book by far, is my favorite sf of hers--I also have fave fantasies, which are so lyrical and layered it's like another person wrote them. Anyway--the fragmentary communication is like hers. It's actually more descriptive and more vernacular than full sentences would be, which confers immediacy and assumes familiarity with the subject and surroundings.

For Bester I'm thinking The Stars My Destination, which was so very descriptive in a visceral way of the enclosures and landmarks and touchstones of living in space. It would be a completely different existence than planetbound life, and what you wrote just there infers that difference without resorting to big flashy arrow signs and anvils.

Um. As it were. Did I say I liked it? 'Cause I did.

Once I though life’s purpose was to live as long as you can. But these past few years I’ve seen so much death that I’m learning to accept, though not without pain, that my death is beyond my control. Now I understand that what counts is living well. Of course I will die before I’m ready. I will leave unfinished work behind—otherwise, I’ll have stopped writing, and that’s not acceptable. But with whatever time I have, I will live well. Every day I will love, I will tell my stories, and I will seek knowledge. That is my center.

Susan, I'm gratified to see a piece in this thread that has nothing to do with your WIP. I'm sorry the events in your life of late have had to be the cause of that, but I'm really glad to see you working through it this way. I hope you continue, and I hope it helps you both write better, and live better.

Susan, I'm gratified to see a piece in this thread that has nothing to do with your WIP.

Well, I'll probably post pieces that are connected to my WIP, too. I like the current community of dead and/or imaginary people who've taken over my brain.

“Things fall apart, the center cannot hold”

She wondered how long it would take until everything shook apart. Until everything went flying, out and away from her and everything else. “Hold on, hold on,’ she chanted underneath her breath, as she tried to fix what had gone wrong with every tool at her disposal. The anarchy refused to abate, though, and she felt herself shuddering apart in time with it all. Darkness dropped as the flood roared in her ears and she slumped down.