Here’s a random rambling for today, because… why not?
I was innocently browsing through Amazon’s Short Stories category the other day — not for research, not for literary enlightenment, but for something far more noble.
I was trying to bulk-up my Goodreads 2026 Reading Challenge.
(P.S I’ve planned to read 30 books this year. I know I read 45 books in 2025 and could have set goal for a higher number but I like under-promise-over-deliver, y’know).
Short books. Quick reads. Bite-sized fiction. The literary equivalent of snacks.
You know — short stories.
So I went to the best-sellers short stories amazon page and started scrolling.
And right on top sits: The Fredrik Backman’s “The Answer Is No: A Short Story”. Reasonable. Makes sense. Looks like a short story. Feels like a short story. It gives off short-story energy. To be honest, I’ve read it last year, one of the best short stories. Read my review here on Goodreads.
Great start.
Then I stumble upon Lee Child’s Eleven Numbers. Again — fair enough. A well-known author, a compact piece of fiction, still believable as a short story. Downloaded it and kept it aside to start 2026 with it.
So far, the universe is in order.
And then… I scroll further. And the category slowly transforms into a parallel dimension. Suddenly we’re in the land of covers that scream:
I Am Clearly Not A Short Story
But I Will Pretend To Be One Anyway
Because Algorithms Are Meant To Be Played Like A Video Game
Bold fonts. Shirtless torsos. Dramatic titles. Flaming hearts.
You know — that very specific “I am not here for literature, I am here for… vibes” energy.
I pick a few at random — purely out of curiosity, not judgment (okay, maybe slight judgment).
Click → scroll → check print length…
582 pages.
Another one?
459 pages.
Short story, apparently.
And look — I’m not even mad at long books. Write 600 pages. Write 1,000 pages. Build empires. Create sagas. Go wild. But at least have the decency to not park your inter-state luxury bus inside the bicycle lane marked “Short Story”.
Because there are readers — like me, this week — genuinely looking for:
- a 12-page character sketch
- a 20-minute emotional gut-punch
- a tiny story to slip between two busy days
And instead we trip straight into:
“SURPRISE! This is actually a 589-page smouldering melodrama disguised as a tiny story because someone learned how to game category filters.”
And yes — I know.
This is indie publishing. People hustle. People optimise. People treat categories like a Rubik’s cube. But sometimes, it genuinely feels like those who play fair, write quietly, label honestly are standing at the back of the line while someone else tap-dances past the rules in glitter boots.
And the system just shrugs.
Anyway — I did eventually find a few actual short stories, buried like fossils in the category where they belong, details to be shared soon. But I also walked away with the familiar indie-author feeling: That mixture of irritation + resignation + “Well, nothing I can do about it.”
So here I am. Rambling about it instead. Because if I can’t fix the system, at least I can complain creatively about it on my blog.
And yes — I’m still looking for tiny books to save my Goodreads Reading Challenge.
If you know any real short stories, feel free to send them my way before I accidentally commit to a 600-page “micro-novella.”
Shabana Mukhtar