In the few years of writing one ugly fact reared its compelling head over and over again, namely practice. It is not that I dislike writing. I love writing. But if I want to write quality work and continue writing well, I need to write more, starting and completing as many projects as possible for me.
This brought on the short story frenzy which has joyfully invaded my life. Obsessed with short stories in all forms, I forged forward. I read them, write them, critique them and devour the genre, from Maugham to Poe. My desire for them, grown over the last few months brought me to demand of myself fifty, yes you heard me, fifty short stories by the end 2011.
As I pondered this dilemma I set up for myself, I realized that all it constituted was a mere four stories a month. By the end of the year, I should have fifty stories. That made it one a week. Forget the extra two weeks which makes the year 52 weeks. We’re having none of that!
Now for someone like me who talks non stop, this should be a breeze, right? Wrong! My publisher, bless his holy heart, made a deal with me that at least 25 of those had to be Novelettes. This qualifies them to at least ten thousand words each.
So,
Here I sit broke hearted
Tried to write
But only started
Then one day
I tried to pen
And all I did
Was say Amen
Yeah, you got it! I lost my mind! Now maybe I can write.