Apparently, if you write a collection of stories oddball enough you can’t find a place they fit in, you’ve created a mini-genre. I call mine Anti-Resolution fiction.

“A story unfinished on the page is often completed in the mind.”

That’s the core of the genre I keep finding myself in. A strange space where the story drops the reader off and drives away, leaving them to fend for themselves. As the writer, I’m not just trusting you to interpret the story, I’m handing it over to you, to become something you own. To borrow a line that’s probably as old as storytelling itself: the reader’s imagination is the most powerful tool.

If writers have writing prompts, these are reader prompts.

Anti-Resolution stories let go early; purposefully, deliberately avoiding traditional narrative closure. The lack of resolution isn’t a flaw or a gap; it’s the point. These stories invite discomfort, provoke imagination, and hopefully linger for longer because of what they don’t say.

With a word count between 200 and 3000, this form sits neatly between flash fiction and short story; not quite a glimpse, not quite a tale, but something else entirely.

Origin and Inspiration

The origin of Anti-Resolution as a genre is, admittedly, a selfish one, born out of my ADHD and the difficulty I’ve always had completing long-form work. While writing, my mind was already imagining the next adventure, the next character, the next world. I’d throw down that initial spark; an impactful, exciting, or alluring scene that kicked everything off, then sketch out the novel ahead with all its twists and turns. But going further? That was the hard part.

Not from lack of imagination. Not from lack of inspiration. Simply a lack of dopamine.

My head had already read the story. I’d seen the world, met the characters, the plot was concluded. And now I needed to sit and write it all out, not for myself, but for someone else. That initial spark I’d written? It lay there abandoned as a point of defeat, a sign of my failure to commit to a larger work. Something no one would ever see.

Until one day, for no particular reason, I realised I should embrace my perceived failings as strengths. If I wasn’t going to finish novels, why not write a multitude of colourful shorts? And why do I need to end them? They’re my stories. I get to choose how they’re told.

And so Anti-Resolution was born. Though, I’ll admit, I called it “Blue Ball” fiction up until the day I wrote this post, realising I’d need something a tad more universal.

My original idea was to gather my “failures” into a book called “100 Blue Balls”. At the time, I greatly underestimated how long that would be (the average length multiplied by 100 would make it a mountain). Also, I only had a fraction of what would be required for that book. I’ve got around twenty Anti-Resolution stories, a few of which are already on this blog. The rest are in various states of disarray, waiting for their turn in the edit queue.

But now that I’ve finally given this little subgenre a proper name, and a place to live, I’m excited. It doesn’t feel like failure anymore. It feels like a new thing to explore that fits me far better, not forcing myself into a mould I’ve never quite fit.

Defining Anti-Resolution

So what actually makes a story Anti-Resolution?

• Unresolved on purpose
  • These stories don’t wrap up. They end at a point where traditional fiction would usually continue. The lack of closure is the defining feature.
• Reader-led continuation
  • The reader’s imagination carries the story forward. The ending isn’t missing, it’s off the page.
• Focused on setup, not payoff
  • Each piece introduces a compelling idea, world, character, or situation. It gives just enough to spark interest, but not enough to resolve tension.
• Emotion over explanation
  • The aim isn’t to answer questions but to create a strong emotional or intellectual impression. Curiosity and discomfort are welcome outcomes.
• Short-form with flexibility
  • Most Anti-Resolution stories fall between 200 and 3000 words. Long enough to immerse, short enough to leave space.
• Not bound by genre
  • Anti-Resolution isn’t Sci-Fi or literary or horror. It’s a narrative structure, not a thematic or stylistic label.
• Structured like a first chapter
  • It often reads like the beginning of something larger, and that feeling is intentional.
    
    

How it Differs

• Flash Fiction:
  • Anti-Resolution fiction can be longer, and doesn’t aim to wrap things up; it’s not a snapshot with closure, it’s a partial thread.
    
    
• Short Stories:
  • Short stories tend to follow an arc: setup, conflict, resolution, however brief. Anti-Resolution pieces may build momentum, but they stop before payoff. The arc is deliberately incomplete.
    
    
• First Chapters of novels:
  • Anti-Resolution fiction can read like the start of a larger work; characters introduced, stakes hinted at. But there’s no promise of continuation. The piece stands alone, unresolved.
    
    
• Experimental/Abstract:
  • It’s not trying to break language or form like an anti-novel or metafiction. The writing is accessible. The subversion lies in where it ends, not how it’s told. It’s less about rebellion, more about restraint.
    
    

Anti-Resolution fiction respects the shape of a story, it just refuses to finish colouring it in.

Intended Impact

Anti-Resolution fiction is designed to leave a mark, get the gears turning, leave you chewing on it for hours, days or weeks. The more questions a reader has, the more successful the piece is. Curiosity can be used as the judge of how effective the writing is.

They’re about provocation: emotional, intellectual, sometimes even physical. The aim is to stir a reaction. That might be discomfort, curiosity, sadness, unease, fascination, anything that makes the story stick in the reader’s head after it ends. They swap out closure for presence.

This can be frustrating. That’s part of the point. If a story leaves you wanting more, turning it over in your head days later, or inventing endings that will never be written, it’s done its job.

Explore

As a writer I’d encourage you to give it a go, I personally find it a very freeing style to write in; lifting the burden of completion and looking forward to the ways people imagine the world and characters beyond what you start. There’s no obligation to ‘finish’. You can stop at any time.

As a reader, I’d say be open-minded and ready to engage your imagination. Don’t wait for answers, you have permission to invent them yourself.

Conclusion

Anti-Resolution fiction won’t be for everyone, and that’s fine. It’s not here to replace anything. It’s just another way to tell stories. One that values beginnings over endings, questions over answers, presence over payoff.

I’ve personally found enjoyment in it. And if it speaks to you too, then maybe you’ll give it a try.

I will slowly work on editing the various Anti-Resolution stories I’ve written and post them, now I feel they have a home. I’ll prefix the stories going in, much like I do with drabbles or flash fiction, so you know what you’re getting into.