The Science of Writing

I’ve been recently using writing contests to finish short stories. I’ve always got a dozen or so half-finished stories rattling around in my laptop. And yes, that is my hard drive, and I am happy to be writing.

Choosing a half-written story to enter into a contest is a great way to get some closure. I finished two short stories recently to enter into this contest I told you about. They were micro-fiction stories I wrote for an event at a local Chicagland public library. I was invited to write to some paintings as artistic prompts for the event. I wrote two micro-fiction stories and one poem. I liked the two mini-stories enough that I expanded them from micro-fiction to fuller stories, but I left both under 1000 words to fit the contest rules. And really, how much more can I write about talking peaches in one of the stories? I could only enter once, so I chose the talking peach story to enter. Duh! There’s still time for you to submit a story. Under 1000 words. Just sayin’.

Anyway, both stories are now in good shape to include in my next collection of short stories. But my first self-published collection of short stories remains unfinished in my mind. It has been only available in digital form and has never been printed. Well, I am determined that the second edition will be available in print. A writing acquaintance advised me that a print version is vital to the success of a book. So, I am re-editing all 16 stories prior to formatting for a printed second edition, including a fantasy story set in a dystopian future.

In parallel, I stumbled across this contest.

Yes, it is that L. Ron Hubbard, founder of the Church of Scientology. Do I still want my fantasy story included in that collection? Yes, please. Take a look at over 2000 reasons.

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RIP, Beloved New Winter Character

Well, it didn’t take long for rot to overwhelm the potentially-annually-lovable Pumpkinman from my last post. Shortly after I took the one and only pic of Pumpkinman (at least I have a picture), rot exerted its mighty will and took Pumpkinman down and sent me into mourning yesterday.

I haven’t cried like I did since Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer got hit by a car. I hate it when you can see the bones sticking out. I should have known. Rot is unstoppable. I’m a perfect example. Did you know that each day after a pumpkin is harvested is equal to one human year? That’s a fascinating stat that I just made up.

Maybe next year we’ll have a new Pumpkinman to photograph, love, cherish, and take to swanky events and soirees as my Plus 1. But for now, I can only ponder the inevitable question.

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