I’m working on a story about a fictional drug called VRX111-EXPERIMENTAL. I started this story wayyyy back in 2015 maybe, because I found it in my old story journal, while I was mining it for good premises. This may be my favorite premise. Basically a studio apartment dwelling loser with vomit-encrusted corduroys copes with his own addiction to an experimental narcotic that makes him stare at inanimate objects for uncomfortably long periods of time. He’s walking down the street and then—oh shit—he’s staring at a stop sign and nothing, no amount of tugging or turning his head, will get his bulging eyes to give up.
I like the story. I think it is medium strong. The writing is definitely the least exciting part of it. No real opportunities for sharp punchy dialogue. But lots of opportunity for atmospheric paranoia, which is something I really love to write about, you know, because you should write what you know.
If you read the above caption and wondered, “Peter, why the hell would you keep your precious short fiction in a dumpster?” The answer should be obvious. I live in a dumpster. Trash heaps are my friends.
So yeah, the story should be finished soon and then I’ll submit it somewhere really cool, probably to our friends at Fluland. But I’ve not been able to dedicate the time I really need to on this project, because I’m working on something even more important to me right now, which is about starting a janitorial company. I don’t write nonfiction too frequently, but when I do I try to take it really seriously (really seriously).
Okay, that’s all I have for now. I’m writing a story about experimental fictional drugs and the atmospheric paranoia that follows. Should be fun.