Author Archives: James A. Miller

Language Drift Over Time

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I was in high school in the mid-1980s, which means I lived through the Valley Girl era in real time. I remember an older kid telling me: “Don’t even get out of the chair or I won’t even hit you.” (Yeah, we had a real weird double-negative talk going there for a while at our High School.)

But every generation has its own version of language and slang.

Today I am picking up language from my 13 year old: “peak,” “mid,” and “low key.” Something can be “peak,” meaning excellent. Something slightly disappointing is “mid.” And “low key” seems to be something that is true but in a casual non-exciting way.

I am also hearing a lot of “Let’s goooo!” as a term for something exciting happening and from a wider audience than just teens.

When I was a kid I recall my grandmother being confused when I had referred to something as “Awesome.” She was a school teacher and I think she felt I was using the word incorrectly. To her, I probably was, but to me it felt perfectly legit 😉

Go back a bit further to fast-talking movie chatter of the 1930s and 1940s and think about the kind of clipped, snappy dialogue in old films. In It’s a Wonderful Life, there’s a tough-guy 1940’s rhythm when Clarence and George get thrown out of a bar: “That’s does it. Out you two pixies go. Out da door or through da window!”

The 1980s were only about forty years ago. The 1940s were less than a century ago. And yet the language from those times already has a foreign feel.

Going back even further, old books ask more of the reader because of language. The sentences are overly wordy, abbreviations and contractions are odd, and the syntax feels awkward at times.

Take the opening of Pride and Prejudice from 1813:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

We would look anyone saying that today with a raised eyebrow. A modern version might be:

“All rich single guys want a wife.”

Shakespeare is another great example:

“Wherefore art thou Romeo?”

Today we might think that Juliet is asking where Romeo is, but she is really asking him why he has to be Romeo and belong to the enemy family. The context of the words have shifted over time.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how languages changes over time because of a story I am working on. It’s set aboard a multi-generational ship traveling at 0.9c for 500 years. Generations are born, live, and die without ever seeing the point of origin or the destination. Twenty-three generations will pass aboard that craft. I have to think that language would change a hell of a lot in that time. If the ship has schools, archives, films, instructions, legal codes, songs, and AI systems preserving the original language, then people might still be able to understand older speech. But their everyday language would almost certainly mutate.

I can see meaning of common words changing over time. Shipboard terms would probably become metaphors. Technical jargon would become slang. New insults would appear. (And I am particularly looking forward to playing around with that last one.)

A phrase like “grounded” might lose its Earth meaning and become archaic. “Up” and “down” might depend on spin gravity or deck layout. “Outside” might mean the vacuum of space. “Weather” might mean radiation. “Sunrise” might be ceremonial rather than literal or forgotten altogether.

The fascinating thing is that language change would not just be decoration or a nice nuance. It will be a fundamental part of worldbuilding. Language can also be a great way for me to orient the reader as to what generation they are reading about, particularly if I need to flash back and forth in the story.

I can picture the last generation, getting ready to land the ship at the final destination encountering recorded instructions back from the time of the launch 500 years ago. These characters will probably understand the words, but they will sound the way Shakespeare sounds to us. I could play around with this fact and set up a nice bit of turmoil due to the misunderstanding of the context of some key words.

I am not sure how much I will ultimately rely on the drift of language over time in this story, but I am sharing it as an example of all of the challenges and opportunities language drift can afford us in our writing. It’s one more tool for the toolbox.

Let me know in the comments below whether language drift over time has played a role in any of your stories.

-James

The Stanley Hotel

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A couple years back I got to visit the Stanley hotel in Estes Park Colorado. The Stanley is where Stephen King got his idea for The Shining – A classic novel, and later movie, about a writer and his family becoming caretakers of an old hotel during the winter season.

In 1974, Stephen King and his wife, Tabitha, were living for a short time in Boulder, Colorado and were taking a driving trip up past Estes Park. They did not intend on staying in Estes Park, but the heavy snow prevented them from driving on so they decided to spend the night. The hotel was closing for the winter, but, after some negotiation, allowed them to stay as the only guests in the entire place.

That eerie setup gave King the perfect atmosphere for a horror writer: long empty hallways, a quiet dining room with chairs stacked on tables, canned orchestral music echoing through the building, and a bartender named Grady serving drinks in the hotel bar. At one point, King wandered into the bathroom, saw the old claw-foot tub behind a pink curtain, and had the thought: What if someone died here? According to King, that was one of the moments when the idea for The Shining began to take shape.

The night also gave him a nightmare that helped seal the story. He later described dreaming about his young son running down the hotel corridors, terrified, while being chased by a fire hose. King woke up sweating, sat by the window looking out at the Rocky Mountains, smoked a cigarette, and by the time he was done, he said he had the basic structure of The Shining in his head.

It should be noted that the movie is very different than the book. King did not like what Kubric did with the story and eventually filmed his own version at the Stanley hotel. I did enjoy Kubric’s vision for the movie but, to me, the book is definitely better.

The Stanley is also where part of Dumb And Dumber was filmed. Supposedly actor Jim Carrey was staying at the hotel (in room 217 – the same room the King’s stayed in) with the rest of the crew but he got so freaked out by something in his room he left in the middle of the night. He stayed elsewhere in town for the rest of the shoot. He has never publicly talked about this experience.

I loved hearing how the location and creepy old hotel gave King the idea for his book. We never know where story ideas will come from. It was thrilling for me to walk through the buildings and think about how that place in Estes Park triggered his imagination so many years ago.

What has been the most unexpected trigger for your story ideas?

-James

What Happens Next? Holding Intrigue Without Losing the Reader

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One of the most common problems I see in newer writers is the idea that mystery automatically creates interest.

It can, of course. Suspense matters. Curiosity matters. The reader absolutely wants a reason to keep turning pages.

But a lot of novice writers end up holding back so much information that it becomes difficult to care about the main character. This makes the whole story hard to care about. The reader becomes confused, and confusion is one of the main reasons readers quit reading.

There is a real difference between making the reader ask, “What happens next?” and making them ask, “What is going on here, and why should I care?”

Driving curiosity

Readers do not keep reading just because information is missing. They keep reading because they have just enough information that they want more.

They need to understand who they are following, what appears to be happening, and what kind of direction the scene is moving in. They do not need every answer right away but they do need enough clarity to form questions that feel meaningful.

If I open a story and a woman runs out of a church crying, clutching a torn envelope, I already have something to hold onto. I may not know what was in the envelope. I may not know why she is crying. But I understand enough about her plight to feel pulled forward. I have some open questions that keep me interested: Why is she crying? What is in the envelope that has her so upset? Why is she fleeing the church?

If, on the other hand, if the woman is crying and she doesn’t understand why or we are not given enough hints to suggest why, then that kind of mystery often creates distance instead of momentum. This is especially true if the reason for the crying remains open for a long time.

Withholding everything is rarely the answer

I think a lot of new writers believe that if they explain too much, they will ruin the suspense but usually the opposite happens.

When writers withhold too much, the story starts to feel evasive. Scenes hint at danger without defining any real stakes or conflict. The reader is expected to stay invested without being given enough reason to keep going.

You only need to hold back the key information

We do not need to hide a lot. We just need to hide the right thing(s).

Let the reader know the scene, the character’s emotional charge, and the general direction. Hold back the one crucial piece that changes how we interpret it.

Good mystery fiction is a great example of this. A detective can arrive at a crime scene, notice the broken watch, the open window, the missing photograph, and the mud on the carpet. This gives us a lot to work with. The writer is not starving us of information. The writer is guiding our attention while withholding the one or more facts that will reframe everything for us later on.

This set up feels satisfying to the reader because they are engaged in active discovery.

Suggest a direction

One of the best ways to keep readers hooked without becoming obscure is to suggest a direction.

Even if the final destination turns out to be different from what the reader expected, that sense of the story “going somewhere” is important. It gives the reader a line to follow.

If the story offers no direction at all, the reader has to do too much work just to understand why the scene exists. Sadly, sometimes a scene like that shouldn’t exist.

A few useful examples

I remember reading Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery In high school. It’s a great example of controlled withholding. Jackson does not explain everything right away, but instead gives the reader a clear setting, a social ritual, and an ever-growing sense that something isn’t quite right. But she does it in a way where the story doesn’t feel vague. The withheld information is such that we don’t feel lost in the story or confused. She omitted just enough and that kind of precision is what gives the twist ending its force.

You can also see this in film. In Jaws, we do not need endless concealment to feel tension. We know there is a shark. We know the beach town is in danger. We know Brody is heading toward a confrontation. The intrigue comes from escalation and anticipation. There are specific details – in particular the sight of the shark – that is withheld in a way that builds wonderful tension. If you have a chance watch jaws again, it is interesting to see how little of the shark is actually shown. So much is revealed by showing us the effects of the shark but not the shark itself.

Readers want discovery

Readers love putting clues together. They love sensing that there is more beneath the surface. They love the moment when a scene shifts and something clicks into place.

If you want people asking, “What happens next?” then give them just enough to believe the answer will be worth it.

Hold back one or two key pieces but suggest a direction. Then let your story lead the reader into discovery.

A good question to ask while revising

When I am looking at a scene that is supposed to feel suspenseful or curious, I like to ask myself:

Am I causing the reader to leaning forward into the story, or am do I have them confused?

This is a lot trickier to answer than it seems. We know everything about the story so it is hard to fully picture where we might be leaving out too much. We often expect the reader to make bigger jumps and put more together than they often can because we know how it all fits. This is where clarity is once again king. Note that clarity is not the same as revelation. you can be clear and still withhold key information.

If the scene is clear about character, stakes, and objectives (telling us why we should care) , the reader will usually lean into the story.
If the scene is built on a hazy reality with a lot of omission, the reader will usually drift away. I see this a lot in stories where the protagonist is unaware of where they are and what they are doing there. Starting with amnesia is a tricky bit. I loved the movie (and the book even more so) Project Hail Mary but I felt that aspect should have been done differently.

Let me know in the comments below what your thoughts are on how to omit key information and still keep the story engaging.

-James

Story Arc and Character Arc

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One of the most common weak spots I see in submissions is the lack of a real story arc or character arc.

Unfortunately, this is a frequent reason I reject stories.

Often, what I receive is not actually a full story but a scene. Something happens. It may be vividly written. It may even have an interesting premise. But the protagonist is not really challenged, doesn’t (or can’t) struggle against any significant conflict, and does not change in any meaningful way.

The protagonist should want something, face obstacles, and have to figure something out, fight against something, or make a meaningful choice. The plot should put pressure on the protagonist. Their actions should matter. By the end, something should be different: externally, internally, or, hopefully, both.

Many of the submissions I see feature a protagonist who is simply carried through events. Things happen to them, but they do not take part in shaping the outcome. As a result, the piece can feel static, even when the writing and premise are strong.

Story Arc:

To me, a story arc is the shape of the plot that happens around the character. There is a school of thought that there is really only one plot line: the Hero’s journey. I have mentioned the Hero’s journey before and that’s a topic deserving of a whole blog post of its own.

Character Arc:

A character arc is should be thought of in terms of personal growth. How did the events change the character by the end of the story? What did they learn and how are they different? In the Hero’s Journey the hero comes home at the end but is changed and often sees the familiar world they came back to in a different light.

Great stories have both a strong story arc and a strong character arc.

And if I have rejected a story you submitted for one or both of these reasons, don’t feel bad, This is understandable because many stories start getting written when the author has a general scene or idea in mind. But the next step should be to ask more of your creation. What does the protagonist want? What stands in the way? And, most importantly, what will this experience cost them or teach them?

Without that, a piece tends to feel like an interesting scene rather than becoming a fully realized story.

Three Key Questions to Ask yourself about what you just wrote

  1. What does my protagonist want, and why can’t they have it? (Tip of the hat to David Mamet for this one) A story needs desire and opposition to create what I like to call “driving conflict.”
  2. Does my protagonist make choices or take actions that affect the outcome?
    The protagonist should have an opportunity to shape the events of the story. They should not be merely a victim (Note that a lot of horror stories I see end up this way. If you are writing horror make sure your protagonist has at least a glimmer of hope to win.)
  3. How is my protagonist changed by the end of the story?
    Character change does not have to be positive (maybe they become morally worse for the experience) but something about them should change by the end of the story.

Hopefully this helps you to look at your writing from a new perspective. If you take the time to really understand story arc and character arc, it will absolutely make your stories stronger and more engaging.

Let me know what you think in the comments below.

-James

Story Endings: Choosing the best outcome

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One of the most satisfying things about a short story should be the ending. We want the protagonist to win in a unique and fulfilling way (or die trying) and we want the villains to get what they have coming to them.

Unfortunately, the ending can also be the most disappointing part of the story if not done correctly. Curiousfarmer and I often talk about how Stephen King tends to leave us wanting with his endings. He does a great job with character and clear, digestible, writing, but often tapers off when it comes to closing out the story.  

During the first draft I usually write an ending that is the most obvious ending.  There isn’t anything necessarily wrong with the ending and I typically do a good job of wrapping up any loose threads, but I have learned that there is usually a better way for me to end my stories.

The first idea for an ending is very rarely the best and most rewarding ending for the reader.

This is where putting down the story for a while and spending some time thinking about it pays off. I have a relatively long commute to work, so I will leave the radio off and just think about the story from a plot and logistical standpoint – turning things around, moving chunks, introducing twists and surprises to see what it could be.

David Mamet talks about going through all of the possible endings and when you get to the most outrageous one that is still plausible, that is usually the one you want to go with.

I do agree that having a certain amount of surprise in an ending can be very rewarding.  Mamet likes to use the terms “Surprising and inevitable” when it comes to story endings. I have become a big fan of this concept as it rings true for me.

Another way that I have found to determine if I have a justified and suitable ending is to look at all of the characters and ask: “Did they get what they wanted? And did they deserve it? Meaning, is their final situation justified?”  This also helps to highlight any loose threads I may not have closed out.

Some people like to look at the conclusion of their stories from a thematic or lesson standpoint. I tend not to put a lot of emphasis on the message a story is trying to send or what the reader should learn from the story. My approach is much simpler in that I am looking for the story to be entertaining. That may make me less literary than most, but I am okay with that.

Let me know how you determine whether your story has the right ending?

-James

Antigravity

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I have been working with Google’s Antigravity code development tool recently. And while that seems like a strange thing to open with for a writing blog, here is why I think it might matter to us:

Antigravity is a development environment for coding that has AI built in so that instead of writing all of the lines of code yourself, you can “vibe code” which is basically talking with the program in plain language and telling it what you want.

While “programming” with Antigravity I found that the more detailed and deliberate I was with my description, the better the results. This made me realize that our talents as fiction writers will be very useful when working with AI now and in the future.

AI can do a lot of very amazing (and scary) things but it needs us to be able to describe in detail what it is that we want it to do.  The better we are at that, the more useful we will be when working with AI, which I suspect will be a very desirable skill in the near future.

As I try to follow the rapidly changing landscape of AI, I find this a refreshing thought that gives me a glimmer of hope.

At least for now…

Let me know what you think.

-James

Ten Story Tropes to Avoid

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Here are ten common tropes that have been used so often they’re usually better avoided. Also, I have to admit that most of these are seen more in movies, but I still consider that storytelling so, let’s just go with that and let me get away with it this one time. Thank you.

1. Crawling Through Air Vents

This one shows up constantly in action movies and thrillers. A character escapes or infiltrates a building by climbing into the ventilation system and crawling through ducts like they’re made for human travel.

In reality, most air ducts are thin sheet metal that won’t support a person’s weight. They’re also cramped, and if they are heating ducts would get pretty hot and probably cause you to pass out.

Once you think about how unrealistic this trope is, it becomes hard not to laugh when you see it.

For Fun I found a blog post that lists the top 5 air vent scenes in movies.

2. The “Knock Someone Out for a Few Minutes” Trick

This is where a character knocks the guard unconscious with a punch to the head. The victim wakes up later with nothing worse than disorientation or a mild headache.

In reality, a loss of consciousness lasting more than a few seconds is a serious brain injury. If your character regularly knocks people out this way, they’re probably leaving a trail of permanent neurological damage behind them. I would much rather see some chloroform on a rag get held in front of the guards mouth and nose, or a taser disable them for a moment.

3. The Conveniently Overheard Conversation

Your protagonist just happens to walk past a door just as the villain is revealing his entire plan.

No effort required. No investigation. Just perfect timing. (see also my post on what role luck should play in fiction)

This trope removes agency from the main character and replaces it with coincidence. Information in a story like this should come from effort, not luck.

4. The Villain Explains the Entire Plan

This works for me in the Bond movies because it sort of “is what it is” in those. I feel like those movies define the whole trope and I give them a pass for it. But even then it’s still clear that this kind of exposition exists purely as an information dump. If these were real villains, monologuing their evil plans would be very careless. There is really no advantage to doing that, unless you want to compromise the 4th wall and let the audience (or in our case reader) in on something.

5. The Countdown Clock

A bomb is set to explode in exactly ten minutes. We can tell this from the red LED display conveniently visible to the hero. Being a very technical person, this one has driven me crazy for years.  Bomb timers based on old-style alarm clocks where the alarm goes off and there is a physical contact closure built into the bell mechanism, yeah, that makes practical sense. Spending extra money and design time to put a digital LED read-out into something that will blow up seems like a lot of unnecessary cost and work.  It’s good to have a metaphorical ticking clock that provides pressure for the protagonist but it’s doesn’t have to be a real one and it rarely makes practical sense to have a LED display.

6. The Instantly Hacked Computer

A character types furiously for ten seconds and announces:

“I’m in.”

Complex computer systems do not collapse instantly under a few keystrokes. Real intrusion involves research, social engineering, and patience.

I also see this kind of instant solution when a character in a movie goes to hotwire a car – they put two wires together and have it running in a matter of seconds. I guess we are just supposed to ignore the fact that it would take more wires than that and the fact that the steering wheel is usually locked.

7. Guns That Never Run Out of Ammo

You see this when characters fire dozens of rounds without ever reloading. I have to admit this has gotten better in movies lately but you do still see it. The new foul is that they change magazine so often now you wonder where they were keeping all of that heavy ammo when the chase scene was happening.

In fiction, running out of bullets is often times more interesting than having an infinite supply.

8. The Totally Useless Security Guards

In many stories, guards exist only to be knocked out or distracted.

They rarely communicate with each other, never notice obvious problems, and seem completely unaware of their surroundings.

A competent security system has multiple guards, cameras, procedures and can create much more interesting obstacles for your characters than the cardboard cut-out guards we usually see.

9. The One-Line Medical Miracle

A character receives a serious injury but is fine after a quick bandage and a few minutes of rest.

Broken ribs, stab wounds, and gunshots tend to have a much longer recovery times than a few minutes. Think about the last time you were injured in anything more than an inconvenient way and how much that slowed you down. I literally had my back go out when I was turned wrong and sneezed one time and I was basically disabled for three days, bordering on tears when I went to put my socks on. I have to imagine being shot in the stomach would slow me down quite a bit more than that.

Injuries that actually affect a character’s abilities make stories much more believable and raise the stakes.

10. The “It Was All a Dream” Ending

Few endings frustrate readers faster than discovering that the entire story didn’t really happen. Now, I did just see the Wizard of Oz at the sphere (which I equate to Disneyland in the expense and “gotta see it at least once” factor) and I am giving that movie a pass at this but for every other piece of fiction, you have to realize that dream endings are a cheat. They erase consequences and invalidate the emotional investment the reader made throughout the story.

Unless the dream itself is the point of the story, this trope almost always a bad idea.

The Real Problem with Tropes

The problem comes when tropes becomes so familiar that the stop feeling like a story choice and start feeling like lazy writing.

Readers enjoy stories where events happen for believable reasons, where characters solve problems through effort and skill and where the world behaves in ways that feel authentic.

If you find yourself reaching for one of these tropes, ask a simple question:

“What Could really happen instead?”

The answer is often surprising and far more interesting than the cliché. Spend a bit more time thinking through potential endings and as David Mamet would say, “make them surprising and inevitable.”

-James

The One-Way Rule of Luck in Storytelling

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Writers often let luck play a hand to move their story forward. A flat tire strands the hero in the wrong town. A missed phone call leads to a disastrous misunderstanding. A dropped key exposes a secret. Bad luck is one of the handiest storytelling tools we have as it can instantly create conflict.

But there’s an important rule experienced storytellers follow:

Luck can get your character into trouble. It should never get them out of trouble.

Why Bad Luck Works

Bad luck is a powerful tool for fiction because it creates problems.

Stories thrive on obstacles and conflict that drive rising tension. Often times back luck comes when we think everything is going to turn out fine. This creates what some call the “all is lost” moment, which is a situation that seems impossible for a character to get out of.

Bad luck makes the situation worse, which is great for storytelling.

Why good Luck is cheating

Now imagine the opposite. Your hero is cornered by the bad guys and escape seems impossible. Then suddenly:

  • An police officer randomly comes by to help.
  • The power goes out at the exact moment our hero needs it.
  • One of the bad guys suddenly turns on the main villain, shooting him dead.

Sure, these things could happen. But if you work the protagonist out of a scrape this way, readers will feel cheated because the protagonist didn’t earn the victory.

As readers, we want to see the character struggle, then work their way out of a problem. If random good fortune solves the problem for them then the story loses its emotional payoff.

The Satisfaction of an Earned Solution

Satisfying endings happen when the protagonist escapes trouble because of something they did.

A good rule of thumb is to let bad luck create problems, but make your hero solve them.

Storytelling is a promise between writer and reader. Don’t let the improper use of luck take the reader out of the story just when it is getting interesting.

-James

Simultaneous Submissions vs. Multiple Submissions: What’s the Difference?

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When I first started learning how to submit fiction, I recall these terms confusing me. For a while I naively thought they were the same thing.

Understanding the difference can save you from annoying an editor or getting your story rejected before it’s even read.

Simultaneous Submissions

A simultaneous submission means sending the same story to more than one market at the same time.

Example: You send your short story The Last Robot at the Party to:

  • Magazine A
  • Magazine B
  • Magazine C

All three markets are considering the same story simultaneously.

This is common and fairly handy because response times can be long for some markets (I just checked Analog on the Submission Grinder and they are averaging 90 days for a rejection and 140 Days for an acceptance).

However, not every market allows this.

Many submission guidelines will say something like:

“Simultaneous submissions are allowed, but please notify us immediately if the story is accepted elsewhere.”

If a magazine does not allow simultaneous submissions, it means they expect you to wait for their response before sending the story anywhere else.

Some editors dislike simultaneous submissions because if they spend time reading and deciding on a story, only to find it has already been accepted somewhere else, their effort was wasted. You don’t want to be remembered as the person causing them this kind of grief.

I actually do not submit simultaneously just to make my submission record keeping easier. I tend to have a lot of stories out at one time.

Multiple Submissions

A multiple submission means sending more than one story to the same market at the same time.

Example: You submit three different stories to the same magazine:

  • The Last Robot at the Party
  • My Neighbor’s Wife’s Time Machine
  • How Not to Build a Dragon

That’s a multiple submission.

Some markets allow this. But many, if not most, restrict writers to one story under consideration at a time.

A typical guideline might read: “Wait until you receive a response before sending another.”

Editors often prefer this because it keeps their submission queue manageable. In my experience, I think it is also a tool for keeping overzealous writers at bay, particularly if they are turning out bad fiction in short order.

The lesson here is to always follow the submission guidelines.

Editors include those policies for a reason. Ignoring them signals that the writer may also ignore other instructions and be someone who is hard to work with, which is certainly not the impression you want to make.

Simultaneous = same story, different markets.

Multiple = different stories, same market.

Maintaining that distinction will help you look like a Pro to editors.

-James

Writing Short Stories:  Return on Time Invested

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Stories vary in the amount an author receives for publication. One of my stories, The Right Answer, has provided a lot in return for the amount of time it took me to write it. And that return has been more than just financial.

The financial side was good, as far as 3000-word fiction goes anyway.  I initially published it in Alex Shvartsman’s UFO 3 anthology (still available on Amazon, BTW) then later as an audio “reprint” on Escape Pod and Tall Tale TV.  I received a small payday each time it went live.

This is pretty good considering I wrote the story in one sitting. I did do a bit of editing later and then had to reshape it based on the feedback the market provided but as stories go, this one had a lot less of my time into it than some of my stories that have never been published.

But the most rewarding “return” I got was being able to see the feedback from those who read it.  I recall a highlight for me when it was initially published: A woman from Australia emailed me to tell me how much she enjoyed the story. She was eating cereal while reading it and nearly shot milk out of her nose at one funny part. It’s an indescribable experience to know that I tickled the funny bone of some stranger, on the other side of the planet, so much that they felt they needed to reach out to me.

Only recently did I notice that Escape Pod has a discussion forum (and do check this out) for stories they publish. It is thrilling to see people talking about the words I have put together.  There were a few people that didn’t like the story, which an author never likes to see, but there are many more who enjoyed it very much. The story is [meant to be] a comedy and tastes can vary quite a bit, so I do expect there to be some that give it a thumbs down.

Let me know in the comments down below what your experiences have been with feedback from those who have read your work.

-James