So I wrote a short story- The Woman Who Could Make Anything -today. It’s a 3000 word story which shamelessly flits from genre to genre, and makes no apologies for it’s actions. Here’s a little taste. Enjoy.
I met a woman who told me that she made things for a living. I asked what sorts of things, and she told me it really depended on the person, and what they wanted. She told me about the man who wanted her to make a mountain out of a molehill in his garden.
The man woke one morning to find a great precipice of stone and shale stretching almost endlessly into the sky. It was all going well, until a group of conservationists appeared at his door one morning and demanded to know if he felt particularly proud that he had destroyed a valued ecosystem, not only for the mole, but neighbouring vegetation and wildlife as well. The man was at a loss. He had not expected people to be that upset over a silly little molehill, not when he had a mountain in his garden, but he had resigned to the knowledge that some people were weird like that, especially the unkempt bearded ones. Word spread of his mountain, and over the next few weeks people would arrive to marvel at it, some even wanted to climb it. It was all going great until the neighbours popped round and demanded to know “what he thought he was doing?” and “If he thought he was being funny?”. They stated that this new hobby of his resided in the communal garden, and they wanted to know what he was going to do about all this mountain nonsense, which they told him under no uncertain terms more than exceeded the regulated square-footage allocated to each of the residents.