National Short Story Day With Chris Coppel

The 21st of December is National Short Story Day, a day to celebrate the the reading and writing of short stories!

In 2023, we published Chris Coppel’s Last Light, a collection of nine chilling short stories brimming with scares and paranormal mayhem on par with literature’s horror greats. This ghostly collection of tales demonstrates Coppel’s unmatched literary skill in crafting stories of all lengths. Although, short stories hold an extra special place in Chris’ heart, read on to discover why…

Chris Coppel Says…

“Long before I ever was brave and and disciplined enough to write a novel, I wrote short stories. As my favourite author at that time was Ray Bradbury, my stories tended to lean towards the unusual and sometimes macabre. Most were no more than two or three pages, but I was able to somehow string together a beginning middle and end. A few, I thought to be pretty damn good. One of those found its way decades later into Last Light, as a story titled Labour Shortage.

I find writing short stories to be more of a challenge than their long form cousin, the novel. Characters need to be developed within less than a page and the story hook has to drop within roughly the same time. Whereas, in an 80,000 page book, I have the luxury of slow and creepy development where, should the mood take, a character can wander off into past reflections. That is not the case in a 7,000 word story. One is required to be efficient with detail and narrative. While this might sound like a drawback, I find it to be the exact opposite. I have found that once I have completed the final draft of a full length manuscript, my head feels like mush. I am exhausted and feeling the usual self doubts that come at the end of any artistic endeavour. That last thing I want to do is sit back down and write.

Thankfully, years ago, I read a very insightful book called On Writing penned by no other than the great Stephen King. He tells of the dangers of stepping away from the keyboard and that, though it is essential not to try and immediately tinker with the novel that you have just completed, you must continue writing something so your creative mind doesn’t atrophy. King recommended short stories. I followed his suggestion and, after I’d completed one of my earlier books, I wrote the short story Lightening Strike. It was the perfect interlude. A literary amuse bouche. I now make it a point any time I feel stuck or burned out to delve into my iNotes app and dig out the dozens of short story ideas that I’ve tucked away.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not saying that they are easy to write. Short stories require a lot of tinkering but, as with longer stories, you let them pull you in as the story unfolds.”

**Read an extract from Chris Coppel’s short story, Lost Words, below…**

Jeff sat in the darkest corner of the bar and quietly drank himself into a semi-stupor. After all, it was his birthday and even though he didn’t have much in the way of expendable wealth, he didn’t see the harm in filling the tank all the way up to celebrate the start of his fifty-fifth year.

Stumbling home on West 47th Street, he paused in front of the Cavalry Christian Church. Jeff was hardly what you’d call a man of faith, but for some reason, on that particular night, he felt the need to pray.

He weaved his way to the front door and tried to pull it open. It wouldn’t budge. He tried pushing it with the same result. He then saw a posted sign showing the church’s opening and closing hours.

“When the hell did that happen?” he slurred, unaware that crime within the city had forced most of the smaller houses of worship to close at night.

Jeff started to cry. He had so desperately wanted to speak to God and here he was, shut out from even that simple ritual. He decided that he was going to have his conversation with or without being able to enter the building. With tears still streaming down his face, Jeff kneeled on the hard concrete steps, closed his eyes and lowered his head in prayer.

“God, I know that I haven’t been much of a believer, but I always knew that you were out there somewhere and would help me if I ever needed you. Well, I need you now. I need a favour. I need you to help me write one great novel. I don’t care about the money. I just want people, before I die, to know that I really can write. I know it’s a lot to ask, and I haven’t got anything to offer you in return, but I’m begging you. Please help me.”

“You have a lot to offer in return,” a voice said.

Jeff opened his eyes and saw a man sitting a few feet away on the same steps. He was dressed in jeans and a hoodie.

“What if I were to promise you that you will write your book in exchange for something that you hardly ever use?”

“What’s that?” Jeff asked, his words slurred.

“Your soul,” the man replied.

Jeff’s initial reaction was to laugh. The man’s Faustian offer was too absurd. Jeff tried to stand up but the man grabbed his arm. His strength was both unexpected and alarming. His grasp felt like an iron vice had clamped onto him.

“This is not a joke,” the man said, as he moved closer.

The strange thing was that Jeff still couldn’t see the man’s face. Sure, it was night time, but there were streetlights and the hoodie could only conceal so much. Oddly; the man’s eyes were completely visible. There were an astonishing shade of light brown that looked almost golden. Then there were the pupils. They were huge. They took up almost the entire iris.

The other disconcerting thing about the stranger was his breath. It wasn’t bad or anything that simple. It was hot. When he spoke, Jeff could feel the heat singeing his hair and eyebrows.

“All I am offering,” the man said. “is a simple swap. You agree to give up your soul when you die, and I will give you the ability to write the book you’ve always fantasised about.”

Jeff tried to pull away, but the vice-like grip grew even tighter.

“This isn’t some sort of trick or a con,” the man insisted. “My offer is that I will enable you to write your book, then, once it’s finished, I get your soul.”

“What if I don’t finish?” Jeff asked.

“You will finish. You have my word.” the man whispered, sending a new wave of searing heat onto Jeff’s face.

Jeff knew that there was no way that he could break free from the crazed lunatic, so he agreed, hoping that would satisfy him and he would find someone else to threaten.

Sure enough, the moment that Jeff accepted the terms, the man rose and walked off into the night.