I have been reading nothing but short stories lately, and while I’ve always enjoyed them, my normal reading habits were full length novels or books. That’s probably why, aside from non-fiction written for specific purposes or story-like non-fiction, my first real attempt at serious fiction writing five years ago was a novel.
One of the main complaints from my loyal friends who were pressed into reading the damn thing was that it was tooooo loooong.
Odd, since what I have been doing for the past three years and up to the last week or so was all short stories–some under a thousand words. Odd too, that I just never before had any interest in writing short stories. It wasn’t a case of figuring that you’re only known if you write a book–at least I don’t think so. I must quite embarrassingly admit, I don’t think I held a deep enough respect for the short story.
I really enjoy writing my version of poetry, and that’s something I’d almost never done. Maybe three poems in my life until recently. And now, I’m back into playing magazine publisher.
Strange how we travel along the literary road.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
Ah poetry. It’s like basking in the winter sun. Hey, look at it this way… at least you have time to read.