A journey of 10,000 words starts with a single sharpened pencil
There’s something you should know about me. I’ve been a long-distance runner since high school. Not much of a revelation, unless you’ve been one. Then you know the delicious compulsion of pulling on a pair of running shoes and charging out into sub-freezing weather, thinking its the best idea you’ve had all day.
About the time I started running competitively, I began writing short stories. Not that running leads to other compulsions or that running and writing go hand in hand (now, there’s a topic for psychological study), but that one does prepare a person for the other.
The long hours of joyful training for the big race is much like the exciting hours of thinking up witty things to put in my characters’ mouths and dicey situations to get them into and out of. And short story writing is like running a race with a satisfying goal just out of sight. (Here I’m talking about a ten kilometer race, not the dreaded marathon.)
For me, writing a short story series is like a running season, with a group of challenging courses over a period of nine or ten months, each story it’s own unique race, each series a pleasant jog down memory lane. Each day, I long for the simple joy of churning out a first draft and revising it over a period of a few weeks (sort of like the writer’s version of weight training) before sending it off to my unwilling partners at Amazon Kindle.
Ah, what a life. I feel lucky to have run this race and that I have a faithful gaggle of readers who cheer me on and enjoy the trampled fruits of my daily labor. Like a dear friend frequently says, “A journey of ten miles begins with a hot bowl of steel cut oats, a cup of blueberries and a glass of orange juice.” I couldn’t agree more.
For those of you waiting at the finish line, I’m well on my way to completing Episode Two of the Laura Kraft, Android Hunter short story series, entitled The Android Who Learned to Print. I think you’ll like it.
