One Sentence Story

 Remember a while ago I told you about talking to a 'writer' (a realio trulio 'paid cash money to write' writer) that told me writing was a muscle that needed to be exercised?  This rings in my ears a little bit lately as I find myself caught between occupations, waiting for the enterprise to grow legs while protesting loudly to anyone who'll listen that 'I do not work in TV anymore'... not to mention the six month deadline growing in my abdomen.  Of course, just because conditions are right doesn't mean inspiration is complicit, but I just 'stumbled upon' a short term remedy in the form of www.onesentence.org/.  A collection of one sentence stories - 'telling the most interesting or poignant story possible in the fewest number of words'. 

This is me extending an invitation to myself and to you to participate - I intend to open a new word document right this minute, choose Calibri, size 12 and write a nice big heading 'One Sentence Stories'.  Perhaps if the results are anything to write (far from) home about, I will share some with you.

If You Notice This Notice You Will Notice That This Notice Is Not Worth Noticing.

Apparently writing/creativity is a muscle that gets stronger with use.  A writer told me that, and by 'writer' I mean someone who actually gets paid to write, not someone who is trying to avoid her stalled career as a television producer by expressing an interest in becoming a writer. But here's the thing: I'm struggling with motivation, or perhaps more accurately, a complete lack of disclipline that traces right back to a school career spent dodging assignments and taking the easy way out (report cards with A for result, D for effort).  So, by way of sating the Gods of Creativity (and in a hope that my creativity muscle will one day bulge), here is a haiku about my bad cold.

Tissue in nostrils

To slow the persistent drip.

I snore when I'm sick.