Recently I told you all about a short story that I penned that I was very proud of. In fact, I've come to the realization that out of all of the things that have ever come out of my brain, that story was my favorite.
Maybe not the most well written, or the most interesting, but my favorite nonetheless.
I've written in the past about my newfound love of short stories, and it dawned on me earlier today (as I was almost freezing to death, another entry for another day) that I might be better off entering into the world of short stories rather than a full fledged novel.
At this juncture, I find the idea of sitting down for a short period of time and just pouring myself into something visceral or heartfelt very alluring. And yes, I realize that those two feelings are entirely contradictory. Which is kind of my point.
It may never go anywhere. I may end up being the greatest short story writer of this generation. I don't know, I don't have a crystal ball.
And if I did, I would be constantly betting on horses. And I'd have the monetary means to simply publish my own rantings.
Ah, what a dream.
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