I want to write here today about something technical, maybe even something too artistically personal (i.e., too practical and operational) to really express. It’s really about a certain set of subtle feelings I get as I’m revising….

But let me give it a try.

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So, fun fact: Chekhov was (wait for it) twenty-seven when he wrote “Enemies.”  Yes: twenty-seven.  Many of his great masterpieces (among them “Gooseberries,” “Lady with Pet Dog,” and “The Darling” were written in the late 1890s, not long before his death in 1904, when he was around forty – so, about thirteen years after “Enemies.” 

That’s a pretty long time. 

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First: Happy Father’s Day to all, and a special shout-out to my dad, a great role model and friend and old soul, the toughest-yet-tenderest person I know, who has taught me so much over the years about what love is, and hard work, and generosity of spirit, and fearlessness, and how to go through life with curiosity, affection, and heart. Love you, Dad - I’m still learning from you, every day.

Now, on to our discussion of “Enemies.”

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So, as of today, I’d like to revert back to our usual schedule: Office Hours for all subscribers on Thursdays, and, on Sundays, work on published stories.

As we get back to our work on stories, I want to try to broaden our field of vision in two ways: first, by reading more contemporary work, and second, by reading more internationally. As I’ve mentioned here before, reading contemporary work offers some challenges in obtaining permissions, but I’m working on some ideas - bear with me.

In addition, in a future post, I’ll also ask all of you for some recommendations on international short story masters - I’m finding I’m not as well-read in this area as I wish I was.

But, for today: let’s ease back into our story work by going back to a (Russian!) classic that has haunted me from the first time I read it - both for technical reasons and because of what it says about us as human beings.

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