Shane Kroetsch

Dark and Introspective Fiction

Shane

The “Why I’m So Tired” Update

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This is a bit of a long post for me, but it’s been a while, so I want to get everyone caught up and share some gratitude.

In October, I posted two episodes of Stories from the Dark to celebrate the spookiest of months, including a story titled The Devil that is exactly 666 words long. I also had an amazing opportunity to be interviewed on The Writers’ Block with Mike Deregowski. We talked all about how I love to scratch a pencil against a piece of yellow-lined paper to calm the voices in my head. It was made more special as it aired on Halloween morning. In case you missed it, you can find it on the Sound Sugar Radio website, look for episode 51. Thank you again, Mike!

November is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) which means ALL THE WRITING. This year I’m participating in an unofficial manner. That means no to-do list, no weird projects, only writing, plotting, and editing. I’ve teamed up with a few other members of the Alexandra Writers’ Centre Society in a sort of accountability group. The goal is not word count, but to write every day, and to support each other in the process. I’m only keeping up with one of these things, and even there I’m struggling.

I finished the first week at just under 8,000 words. Not bad. I’m already behind on my current work-in-progress, and now it’s looking like it will be shorter when finished than I hoped. These things are renting a lot of space in my head, which slows down the whole process even more. The current bright spot in my writing life is a short story I’m working on to submit to Pulp Kings Eight from Stray Books. So far, it’s come together quick, and the edit is going well. Good thing because the deadline is this Saturday.

Speaking of submitting stories, I have exciting news in that regard. Late last year, my story Identity was accepted for publication in WonderShift, the Alexandra Writers’ Centre Society’s 40th Anniversary Anthology.

This past Friday, I got to read Identity in front of a room full of actual people! I am beyond honoured to be included with many other talented local writers and poets. I speak about it as often as I can, but community in any creative endeavour is important. Unfortunately, I’m terrible at making these connections because I’m tired and cranky most of the time and would rather hide from the world, but I am grateful to be a part of this wonderful group, even in a small way.

Identity isn’t the only story I’ve had accepted recently. Lampblack Books put out a call for submissions earlier in the year for their new anthology, The Planchette Vol. 1, and my story Remember was accepted! The launch was postponed due to health restrictions, but I know the Lampblack team is working hard on getting the anthology ready for release. I’ll update as soon as I know more.

I understand how fortunate I am to have had these opportunities come my way this year, but they weren’t always my focus. When I started my writing journey, a huge part of my goal as a creative freight train was to show that anyone can do the things I do. We can all follow our dreams, even if the steps we take are small. The potential for this hit me hard at the WonderShift launch on Friday when I looked down at the book sale table,

Yes, so many amazing books by local authors and poets, plus, mine are there too. But that’s not all.

I started Pencil on Paper late in 2018 so I could publish my books. I had no idea what I was doing but was fortunate to have close friends that were able to help me bring my very specific visions to life. When I left my day job early in 2019, I convinced one of those friends, the one and only Kaleigh Kanary, to jump on board to help me grow the business and truly live our best creative lives. Wonder Twin powers, activate!

Nothing looks the same today as it did three years ago, that goes without saying. Out of all the bullshit and loss we’ve had to put up with, here’s something positive to focus on, something that inspires me more than I can put into words.

In the last three years, Kaleigh has created seven published or soon to be published book covers (shown in the picture above are Uncommon Grounds by The Espresso Poetry Collective, WonderShift, and the two with my name on them). She completed her Professional Editing Certificate from Mount Royal University and has, to date, finished five full book edits. She has designed websites, created all of PoP’s marketing materials, and a million social media posts. If asked, she’ll say she isn’t a poet. If you go to her website, kaleighkanary.com, you’ll see that she most certainly is. She is a testament to what throwing a middle finger up to what society says we should be, and following your heart, can look like.

I’m sharing this with you as more than an example of what is possible. I want to be very clear that while I am the dancing monkey in this publishing endeavour, the entity playing the organ is Pencil on Paper, and Pencil on Paper is a team. I am grateful to be Kaleigh’s business partner and proud to be her friend. This journey hasn’t always been easy, but I know when I look back it will have been worth it.

Thank you for following along. Until next time, I hope you are well.

Shane

Stories From the Dark, Ep. 6 – The Devil

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Happy almost Halloween!

Last year I had an idea. Wouldn’t it be fun to write a story about the Devil in exactly 666 words? Turns out it was. Once it was finished though, I didn’t know what to do with it. Initially, I thought I would search out an open call to submit it to. After not being able to find a suitable opportunity, I got it ready to post as a story. Why that didn’t happen, I’m not sure. That brings us to today. To celebrate this spookiest of months, I decided to post two Stories from the Dark, and what better opportunity could there be than to share with all of you just before Halloween? I hope you enjoy it.

What comes next? November is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). While I’m not participating in an official way, I am joining a group of my writer friends in an attempt to create some good writing habits, and while maybe I won’t get 50,000 words down, I still want to finish my current work in progress and take a big chunk out of the next. Stay tuned!

Until next time, I hope you are well.

Shane

Stories from the Dark, Ep. 5 – Truth or Dare

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Oh hi.

I have a short one for you today. While I normally write dark and weird, this one even surprised me. Maybe the spooky month is having an effect on me? Have a listen, I hope you enjoy.

Keep an eye out for my second Stories from the Dark post in honour of Halloween coming in a couple weeks! Until then, I hope you are well.

Shane

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Photo by David Tomaseti on Unsplash

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Memory

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I took the phone off the hook. Not that anyone knows where we are. Past the flickering neon vacancy sign, the stars begin to fade with the light of a new day. I don’t remember the last time I saw the sunrise. Part of me hopes it won’t ever happen again.

When we met, love came faster than I knew it could. By the time I heard the first pull of the whistle, that train was already on top of me. All we had was each other, didn’t need anything else. I had her name tattooed next to mine on the inside of my arm like it was scratched into an old tree. Together forever. That’s what I thought, anyway.

Yesterday, she told me she doesn’t love me anymore. I know it’s to make leaving easier, but it hurt more than anything. I begged her to stab me right in the heart and put me out of my misery.

“No,” she said. “I can’t do it to you any more than you could to me.”

I laid next to her all night, as close as she’d let me, hoping it’s all been a bad dream. Now, she’s sitting on the end of the bed, staring at the door, holding herself the way I want to hold her. I have the urge to reach out, but she’s already too far away. There’s nothing else to do, so I ask her one last time. Why does she have to go?

“You know why,” she says. She raises a hand, maybe to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Instead, the tips of her fingers rest on her temple. When her hand starts to shake, she pulls it away. “My memory… it’s getting worse.”

It’s part of the reason we left, why we’re running from our families and the place we grew up. I ask again about our plans. New Orleans in the fall. Valentine’s Day in the desert. California by spring, where the ocean’s as blue as her eyes.

She lowers her head. “By Valentine’s Day, I won’t even remember your name.”

Everything is broken. This whole time, our plan seemed so simple that I forgot about the cost, or maybe I can’t bring myself to admit that it’s true.

She stands and faces away from me with her hands in her pockets. “I have to be on my way.”

I tell her I wish I could change things and make it so she could stay. She grabs the handle of the battered old suitcase on her way to the door. Before heading out, she stops and glances over her shoulder. “If only wishing for it made it real,” she says, then walks out into the cold morning air.

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Photo by Quino Al on Unsplash

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Stories from the Dark, Ep. 4 – The Wrong Key

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Oh hi.

I seem to be fond of smelly old dirt floor basements and putting people in circumstances they would rather not be in. Not that I enjoy these things necessarily, I suppose it’s a way for me to express my fears to the world. I also like creeping people out. In a fun way of course. Have a listen, I hope you enjoy.

Until next time, I hope you are well.

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Cover Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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The Flood: Oscar

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Oscar raises his eyes with one hand held at his brow to shield them. Written high on the weather-beaten panels of the fence are the words, ‘keep going’. Underneath the drips of paint creeping down from each letter, an arrow points north along the street. It asks those yearning for safety to wade into the broken asphalt, overgrown weeds, and sun-bleached bones of those didn’t survive the flood, or the monsters left behind once the water went away.

When Oscar closes his eyes, the girl’s face is as clear as a picture on the wall. Dark, wavy hair. Sad blue eyes. She holds a thin blanket tight to her chest. She only ever says one thing.

You have to keep going.

By going, she means follow the arrows. Continue north. It makes sense, as far as Oscar chooses to think on it. The water couldn’t have reached everywhere, especially higher elevations. That doesn’t mean he knows what to expect when he gets there.

A tremor rises through the soles of Oscar’s boots. He unhooks his thumbs from the straps of his backpack, spins away from the fence, and crouches down.

Oscar’s eyes dart left and right. He focuses on the beaten and rusted carcass of a sedan across the street. Keeping himself low, he scurries up behind the car, and slips into the open trunk. With the lid raised enough to allow a sliver of dull sunlight, he waits. The tremors grow, shaking the stale air of his sanctuary, until soon they are accompanied by snapping tree branches, and dust clouds kicked up by the commotion.

A column drops from the sky, crushing the heaving asphalt next to the car. Draped in grey, wrinkled skin, three jagged claws splay out of the front, and one longer sticks out from the back. The impact lifts the wreckage off the ground for a split second. Oscar sprawls inside, and the trunk lid cracks the top of his head as it falls.

A shadow speeds across Oscar’s hiding spot as the opposite leg trails forward and hammers into the ground far past the street. High above, the shape of the body blurs as it passes along the halo edge of the sun. Oscar calls them Stilts, or Tall Boys. Harmless mostly. Unless they step on you.

Greater distance is achieved with each successive stride, until the creature is neither seen, nor heard. Oscar eases the trunk up and sneaks a glance over the edge. As confident as he can be that the coast is clear, he swings a leg out and stands. Watching along the street behind him, Oscar points in the direction of the arrow on the fence and runs.

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Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

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