A Small Fiction has had a long and weird journey. It started as a private notebook in an office in 2007. Then, after a few months, the first few little stories made the jump to my personal twitter account at the rate of one a week.
It wasn't until 2009 that it got an account of its own, mostly because my personal account was being deleted and the stories didn't deserve to vanish with it. And because there were more to write. So for a few years it sat quietly, and I added to it idly. Whenever an idea struck me. Once a month, maybe. Less.
After several years, I decided I wanted to do more with it. I set myself to posting one new story every day, mostly as a challenge to stay fresh and flexible and not let my thoughts narrow to the dimensions of whatever project I was working on at the time. Over time, people found it and followed along. An audience grew, and it became a lot more.
It became a catharsis for the bad days, and a celebration of the good days. It became a podium and a confessional and a campfire to whisper around. It stopped being something I was doing and became something I was sharing, and the people I was sharing it with. With every reaction, and personal story, and clever addition, and shared smile or shed tear A Small Fiction became a story that we were telling together. And every day, it grew. And continues to grow.
And now it's become this. A physical thing that can actually be handed from person to person, with pages and pages of illustrations and small stories to leaf through and discover. A book, hopefully the first of many. More than shared, it can be owned, and borrowed, and given! The years around the campfire that we spent together made manifest. Made yours to keep.
And it's something that we made together. It always has been.
Thank you for supporting this book. I hope it gives you as much as you've given me.
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