My husband and I decided to try indoor gardening when shelter-in-place and quarantine started. I was going to focus on carrots, peas, onions, and potatoes, but when I went to the store to buy seeds, I let one of the associates talk me into a tomato plant. I hadn’t planned on growing tomatoes because my husband won’t touch them, but I figured it was a time to experiment and I could have fresh tomatoes with a salad once it started producing. It wasn’t until two months later that I learned that particular kind of tomato plant could grow 9 feet high. I gave it a bigger pot, a new spot that would allow it to grow as tall as it wanted, and worked to make sure it had enough water – too much water, it turned out.

I started noticing a multitude of tiny, black flying specks zipping through our townhouse, invading my personal space, and making menaces of themselves in general. For a week, as I tried to figure out where they were coming from, I had to keep a coaster over any glass I drank out of unless I wanted a little extra protein added to my diet. I traced them back to the tomato plant’s container, and after some amateur sleuthing online, determined they were probably a member of the Sciaridae family of insects, mostly gnats that infest house plants or other commercial crops. From what I learned, there were probably eggs in the soil I bought from the gardening store and my over-watering of the tomato plant was allowing them to thrive.

I do not like pests in my home. I once lived in an apartment where I provided weekly updates on my ongoing battles in the Pest Wars to my mother. My response to our tiny new roommates involved a combination of hydrogen peroxide, diatomaceous earth, and organic and inorganic pesticides applied to every plant container in our house. The population of black flying specks quickly plummeted. I only see one or two anymore, and they are easily dealt with.

These little bastards became a large part of my life for a time. I worked from home before Covid-19 and wasn’t going very many places when it began to pick up, which was around the same time the gnats started to take over. I hated them, and wanted them to suffer as they died. I rained death down on them to the best of my ability, but even seeing them writhe in agony as they got covered in a fine white powder that slowly cut them up and dried them out wasn’t enough. I created a narrative in my head, and since I was bored, I wrote it out. The result was a 22-page, three-part, 11,000-word novella. Overreaction? In regard to the pests, no. In regard to the story, maybe.

The writing process for this was a different experience for me. Normally, I either start with a vague idea of what I want and let the story develop organically, or I start with a vivid scene but don’t have any definitive idea where the story should go from there. You might think this process would result in a lot of unfinished stories. You would be right. However, this time I had a clear idea of the story and characters, I knew the main events I wanted to tell, I knew exactly how it would end, and I knew the approximate length I wanted the story to be (I aimed for 30 pages max, I got 25, and I finished with 22 after editing). I was actually quite proud of myself when I finished it. I’d set a goal, followed my plan, and completed the project, AND (bonus points) I did it in a reasonable amount of time (for me). The story probably could have gone much longer if I’d gone into more detail in some parts, but I wanted to use this as a writing exercise on two fronts: writing with brevity (I hear you scoffing at 22 pages being considered brief), and showing rather than telling. Whether I succeeded with these two goals is not for me to decide (I’m biased).

Did I lose my mind when writing this? Maybe. Is the story entertaining? I hope so (see previous comment about bias). Are the gnats gone from my house? More or less. Do I feel better now that they aren’t flying up my nose or drowning in my water glass? Yes. Absolutely yes.

Read Side Effect here.