For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn.
I had read, somewhere, an author who wrote stories that were only two or three lines of a column long—maybe twenty words, tops. They were unfailingly compelling, giving me, the reader, just enough to set my imagination spinning.
I rather expected a ficlet to only be about that length. But now, with easily double the number of words necessary for such an endeavor (and many words added in on second blush), this little literary polaroid picture is barely half full.
Perhaps this phenomenon is why, in grad school, my papers are never quite long enough.