I once fancied myself a potential author and even saved up all my money from my first full-time job to take a year and a half off and write a novel. Twenty years later, and Iím still stalled somewhere in Chapter 9.
†††††Most of all, I think, the experience left me with an enduring affection for the short, short bits of writing I could polish off in a few hours, although even with these, I could still make things difficult for myself by constructing elaborate postcards around my stories and sending them to my friends.
†††††Today, I participate in 100words, but only sporadically, and even add to my problems here by creating a few of my own rules: (i) I generally donít write about what happened to me today, since Iíd much rather write about something Iíve had some time to think about or something Iíve made up entirely. (ii) I do not write about writing, and especially about writing 100 words, since I generally find reading such things tedious. (iii) I occasionally write to an arbitrary theme I choose to carry me through the month.
†††††Iím pretty sure that Iíve broken my own rules, and I know that Iíve broken Jeffís, but if itís any consolation, the whole experience has frequently compelled me to reduce short story ideas and even entire novels to one-hundred word summaries . . . and make me wonder if things might be better if they stay forever in that form.
†††††For those who might care, I write in Tex-Edit on my Macintosh and use it to curl my quotes, lengthen my dashes, and occasionally add a bit of emphasis to my pieces. Tex-Edit counts my words, and Spell Catcher corrects my spelling.