The Story Size Question Writers Avoid
Most writers ask the wrong questions.
They ask when they should write a novel. They ask how long a book needs to be. They ask whether short stories count.
A better question sits underneath all of that.
What size story helps you grow right now?
The False Divide Between Short Stories and Novels
Writers often treat short stories and novels as different crafts.
One feels small. The other feels serious. That distinction falls apart once you start paying attention. Both forms demand structure. Both demand tension. Both demand characters who change. Both demand endings that earn their place.
The difference shows up less in storytelling skill and more in scale.
A novel stretches a single narrative across space. A short story compresses pressure into a narrow window. Neither one excuses weak structure.
Here is the paradox: A novel becomes easier to write once you stop seeing it as one large thing. Think of chapters as complete arcs. Think of parts as self-contained movements. Each section asks you to solve the same problem a short story asks you to solve.
Set up. Escalate. Resolve.
When you reframe a novel as a sequence of smaller stories, the intimidation fades. Your focus sharpens. Your energy holds.
A 100,000 word epic stops feeling like a mountain and starts feeling like ten manageable climbs.
Word Count as a Constraint, Not a Status Marker
Publishing treats word count as a sorting system.
Writers often treat it as a badge. That mindset causes trouble.
Word count does not measure depth. It measures scope. Here is the rough framework most editors still use:
Short story, up to 7,500 words
Novelette, 7,500 to 20,000 words
Novella, 20,000 to 40,000 words
Novel, 40,000 words and up
These numbers shift across genres and publishers. Fantasy tends to sprawl. Literary fiction often tightens. Classics break every rule.
The useful takeaway stays simple.
Length labels help bookstores. They do not help you write better stories.
Shorter forms force precision. Longer forms reward patience.
Neither one guarantees quality.
Choosing the Form That Serves You
When deciding where to focus your energy, three factors matter more than ambition.
First, how long you have been writing. Second, why you write at all. Third, what your current story asks for.
If you feel stalled, overwhelmed, or stuck revising the same draft for years, short stories offer speed and feedback. You finish more work. You see results faster. You build trust in your own instincts.
If you already carry momentum and clarity, longer work holds space for deeper exploration.
There is no hierarchy here. There is timing.
In my own work, stepping back from a drafted novel and committing to short stories created breathing room. Each finished piece sharpened my sense of structure. Each ending taught restraint. Each experiment fed back into the larger project.
Short stories turned into a training ground.
Not a delay. A preparation.
The Publishing Fantasy and the Craft Reality
Stephen King once pointed out something uncomfortable.
Many writers chase novels because they imagine the object. The printed book. The shelf. The legitimacy. Short stories feel like practice. Novels feel like arrival.
The paradox shows up here.
You grow faster through repeated completion than through prolonged struggle.
Short stories compress the learning loop. You plan. You write. You finish. You reflect. You adjust. Then you do it again.
That rhythm builds skill. Confidence follows output, not intention.
A marathon without training breaks you down. Repeated sprints build capacity.
The Question Worth Asking
The real question is not which form matters more.
The real question asks which form sharpens your craft right now.
Write short stories if you want speed, iteration, and precision.
Write novels if you want endurance, layering, and immersion.
Both paths lead forward when chosen honestly.
The paradox remains simple: Small stories often build writers who finish big ones.
Even though this is about writing, I felt it immediately as a musician. The way you talked about compression versus endurance felt exactly like the difference between finishing songs and endlessly developing them. I’ve learned more from completing small pieces than dragging one big idea around for months. This made that feel valid instead of like a shortcut. Thank you Idris Elijah for taking the time to lay this out so cleanly!
This hit home for me because I’ve felt that quiet pressure to go big before I was ready. Seeing short stories framed as a place to sharpen judgment instead of delay progress was a relief. I love the idea that finishing smaller things isn’t a detour. It’s how you build the muscle to carry larger ones. This made me feel steadier about where I’m putting my energy right now. Appreciate you Idris for naming something a lot of us feel!