Introducing Short Story Short

A monthly short story newsletter... with my apologies

Hello! You might be on this mailing list (migrated from Mailchimp to Substack) for one or more of several reasons. 1) You have indicated interest in the writing of Rachel Khong. 2) You are my friend or family, here out of guilt, obligation, or affection. 3) You were a subscriber to my pre-pandemic newsletter, “What What What.” 4) You were interested in a podcast I failed to launch, called “Trash Slash Treasure,” about reusing household materials. (I’m sorry about that! I recorded segments for an episode about milk cartons. I even commissioned a logo and theme song (all the instruments were trash!). Then I never managed to pull the podcast together or release it, because writing Real Americans consumed me so completely: the last eight years were spent in the grip of its maw, and I have only very recently been spat out. (Don’t worry, I was punished, fiscally, for never making good on my promise, and forced to pay for an entire year of ProTools (not cheap). Let my life be a lesson.))

In the year of our lord 2024, and soon 2025, no one needs another podcast. Nor do we need another newsletter, really.¹ But here I am, not without some trepidation/shame, to introduce a new (yet also old) project: a short story newsletter called SHORT STORY SHORT. It will be about short stories; it will be short. If you belong to any of the above categories, this offering may interest you. But it may not, which is fair, of course. Stories are a far cry from rescued milk cartons. Allow me to explain, so you can decide whether you’d like to stick around.

Whenever I feel bad, I take out a pen and notebook to make some sort of list: a more/less list, a to-do list, a grocery list. Without fail, making a list makes me feel at least mildly better. In 2021, feeling especially terrible about life/Covid/my interminable novel (which I had by then been working on for four years, with no end in sight), I gave myself the assignment of reading a story and poem a day, every day, for the year. The internet felt repetitive, numbing, no longer fun. I could sense a temptation to get judgmental, to believe in the rightness of my own perspective. It was an uncertain time, and uncertainty makes me go rigid, pull my soft limbs into my shell. But closing up never feels good—only safe. Reading shorter forms—and many of them—struck me as the antidote to this perspective-narrowing.

Despite their size, stories don’t narrow, they enlarge. Stories remind me of the many ways there are of being a person. They remind me that nobody is going about “being a person” in any consistent way. Stories connect me to human consciousness in a way that Instagram stories never seem to. Reading stories has always been a way to regularly encounter sentences and perspectives that surprise and enthrall me. In high school, stories introduced me to the fact that writers weren’t exclusively dead, but roamed among us (shocking!), metabolizing the same minutes I was living through.

Now, as a writer, stories are where I get to be my most weird. I read stories to witness other writers getting weird. I simply feel better when reading a story a day, the way I feel better when I exercise/meditate/[insert wholesome habit that I regularly fail to achieve here]. Every second I spend reading a story is a second I do not spend on a device, being told what to like or buy or covet. So, here we are.

The basics:

• Every month I’ll send a list of stories I’ve read, with my favorites starred

• I’ll recommend ONE story, and tell you why, very briefly! (Short story SHORT)

• I’ll share the story, if possible, or at least let you know where to find it (most likely, the public library)

• The first newsletter will be sent during the first week of January 2025, featuring stories I read in December

• Each month, you will be encouraged to comment with the stories you’ve read. Share your favorites, or continue the discussion of the story I’ve recommended. Each month I’ll also randomly pick 1 person to snail mail a surprise short story you might like, based on the stories you shared.

This is an invitation to keep your own list along with me. The stories I choose will be to my own taste; they will have delighted or moved me in particular. But I’d love to know what delighted or moved you in particular. And this is an experiment in building a community of story readers.

There will be no cost to subscribe, and monthly offerings will be free. After three months, posts will be put behind a paywall, so if you’d like to access archival entries, you may via a subscription. But no pressure!

Diane Oliver died in 1966, too young, at age 22. Her collection, Neighbors, was posthumously published earlier this year, and is impressively dense with excellent stories. So definitely read that book, but additionally: the single story I’d recommend most highly is Elizabeth McCracken’s “Thunderstruck” from Thunderstruck and Other Stories (2014), about a family and their troubled teenage daughter. I was certain I knew what it was up to before I realized I was wrong: the story shifts, then shifts again. It’s lively yet heartbreaking, one of my favorite combos.

November was intense in multiple ways. Stories went unread. But ‘Pemi Aguda’s Ghostroots, published this past May, was a highlight—an odd and perfect Miami beach read.

This will be a way to keep in touch, too. Lately, I’m preferring life without social media. Since June, I’ve been on a break from Instagram, and I’m not sure I’ll return. My Twitter account has been deleted for some time now; I’m not especially tempted by the substitutes. Though Substack offers its own social media–esque features, I won’t be using them (no Notes!). I reserve the right to share the occasional book or writing-related announcement, but they will not be this newsletter’s focus. There may be additional physical offerings in the future, to honor my love of mail. But this is just what I’m thinking for the moment. This project is entirely exploratory, and subject to evolution.

My hope is that Short Story Short will point you toward stories you might not have encountered otherwise: stories that might become part of you, or just make your day funnier or stranger or more vivid. Reading a story a day isn’t life-changing, but it has changed my life. I think of it as my secular devotional, orienting me toward openness. It is, at least, something to try.

Going into 2025, I want more real connection, not app-enabled “connection” that leaves me feeling hollowed out. Less: certitude, broadcasting, performance, self-importance. More: ambiguity, openness, contradiction, curiosity. Could Short Story Short be an antidote? Let’s find out! See you in January.

1. I highly recommend having a separate email address for ONLY newsletter subscriptions. It’s like getting to tune into a newsletter channel when I’m in the mood. They don’t bombard me when I’m not.