This Was Supposed to Be a Novella. Paris Had Other Ideas.

When Your Story Has a Mind of Its Own

One of the secret thrills—and occasional frustrations—of writing fiction is this: sometimes the story decides what it wants to be. And it rarely asks permission.

A few months ago, I sat down to write a tight little novella. The idea was clear: a woman with secrets arrives in Paris for a thrilling new job. She meets a man—also keeping things to himself. Sparks fly. Trouble follows. A whirlwind romance turns into a fight for survival.

I called it Paris Fling. That’s what it was supposed to be: quick, intense, and over before dessert.

But then the story grew teeth.

Characters who were meant to vanish after a scene or two dug in and demanded more. Backstories started to sprawl. The shadowed corners of the 5th arrondissement kept whispering new mysteries. Paris wouldn't let go—and neither would the plot.

Now it’s no longer a novella. It’s the first half of a novel.

The short version—Paris Fling—will still be published as a free bonus for subscribers to this newsletter. But it’s only part one. The rest will come later, after I finish the project I’m currently calling Washington Square, which is still a few months out.

I’ll share more soon—maybe even a deleted scene or a historical rabbit hole I fell down along the way.

But here’s what I want to know from you:

👉 Do you prefer a swift, page-turning novella—or a rich, immersive novel that you can live in for days?

Reply or comment—I’d love to hear your take.

À bientôt,
John

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