Kate Chopin is know for her exploration of complex human emotions and societal expectations of women. Chopin uses “Doctor Chevalier’s Lie” to investigate the intersection of morality, compassion, and deception.

Chopin’s work is no stranger to What Makes This Short Story Great? series. The first Post was “The Night Came Slowly.” Where the first story was more meditative and atmospheric, “Doctor Chevalier’s Lie” is a character-driven story. It’s the perfect story to analyze from both a reader’s and writer’s perspective.

Sometimes the most fearful moment is also the most humorous.

A sudden thud in the middle of the night turns out to be an iPad sliding off a table and slamming against the ground.

Or when you hear a sound in a dark room and it turns out to be your dog snoring.

The human psyche loves to generate a sense of fear in the most mundane of situations and circumstances. We let our anxiety get the best of us. Our inner storyteller hears a sound and immediately thinks a slasher will jump out and hack us to bits.

It’s the thin line that carefully binds fear, anxiety, and humor together that is the focus of Stephen Crane’s short tale, “A Tent in Agony.” A wonderful, quick read that is incredibly relatable and does a fantastic job at exploring the comedic side of fear and exaggerated panic.

I’m excited to share this little yet powerful story of Woolf’s that I think is the perfect representation of all of her writings: poetic, haunting, intentional, layered, and, more importantly, human.

Woolf’s “A Haunted House,” is a story that unfolds in quiet glimmers of meaning and gently asks the reader to listen closely for what’s just beneath the surface.

I admit it.

When it comes to unreliable narrators, I’m as lost and confused as a parent helping their 10 year-old kid with their math homework.

Even though I struggle to comprehend and understand stories that employ unreliable narration, I’m often thinking about them long after the reading (or viewing) is done.

The first time I encountered an unreliable narrator in fiction, I didn’t recognize it right away. I took the story at face value, only to realize later that the protagonist’s version of events didn’t quite add up. That moment—when certainty slipped into ambiguity—changed the way I read stories. It made me a better, more careful reader.

It also changed the way I wrote stories.

Writing stories is hard. Writing funny stories is even harder. Writing funny stories that are suspenseful and have a twist ending are stupidly difficult.

And I suck at writing all three.

But you know who doesn’t? Guy de Maupassant.

Yeah, I bet you haven’t heard that name in a long time (if at all).

The night is when the writer comes out to play.

There’s a distinct kind of stillness that descends on a writer late at night, the kind where distractions fade, and the world feels suspended in time. It’s in these moments, staring out at a darkened sky or hearing the rustle of leaves, that I’ve often found myself reading, studying, and thinking about stories like Kate Chopin’s “The Night Came Slowly.”

Chopin’s brief (it’s about 500 words) yet profound story reminds me why I write: to capture fleeting feelings, to explore the tensions between humanity and solitude, and to seek meaning in the smallest moments.

Chekov’s story reminds the reader that there is a fine balance between the perfection we seek in our lives and obstacles and set-backs life throws at us. And it’s how we react, together, in the face of those obstacles that defines our relationships with our loved ones.

George Saunders’ “Sticks” is a story about a Dad and his odd hobby of decorating a pole in his front yard. But, what the story is really about is a Dad’s struggle with his relationships with his kids and his struggle with his inevitable death.

The story is also an awesome example of how to craft a meaningful, well-told story by focusing on the periphery of a character — the importance and symbolism of a single object (a pole) and how it reflects the journey of a character (the Dad).