We moved around a lot when I was a kid. So I was always the add-on, peripheral. I always missed the original forge. Alas. Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t. It is good to understand why things are the way they are, or why they might be the way they are. We never really know anything about anything.
And so I don’t get invited to all the things. I feel both left out and happy about this. The older I get, the happier I get about it. This ageing thing is pretty wonderful, quite a relief, the sweetest exhale, truth be told. I wouldn’t go back a single second.
I spent some time looking through past blog posts today. Now that I am taking a pause from my book project, but still itching to write, I may take up my earlier endeavour of rolling through the different lengths of writing as prescribed by Lee Masterson (http://www.fictionfactor.com/articles/wordcount.html). In short, he says this:
up to 100 words
100 – 1,000 words
1,000 – 7,500 words
7,500 – 20,000 words
20,000 – 50,000 words
Epics and Sequels
Over 110,000 words
© Copyright Lee Masterson. All Rights Reserved.
To date, I have written fourteen micro-fiction, two micro-non-fiction (a category I invented myself), and three flash-fiction pieces.
I don’t love writing fiction. I am not good at it. Chicken and egg syndrome, of course, perhaps, who knows? It’s why I should do it. Exercise the mental muscle. Then again, I hate the word « should. » Sigh. For now, I shall just write this post.
With regards to always being on the outside, well, I have this to say: My toque is not a helmet, my mitted hands can still be held, my coat is not an armour and unbuttons, should I find the way in.
It does look nice and warm in there.