If you had
caught me a couple of years ago, I would have told you that I hated writing
short stories. With a passion. Not only did I struggle with fitting my ideas
into such a small allocation of space (I never go above or beyond the 5k mark),
but I never understood how to get the ideas I had and break them down and slot
them into only a handful of pages.
Thankfully, I learnt and I managed. Now I seem to write them all the
time. The story machine inside my head is constantly on overdrive, and, as much
as I loathe having to say this, sometimes I’ll hammer out the ideas even though
I knew from the outset they’d amount to little more than bin fillers.
Right now I have roughly forty or so short stories that are in the
process of being edited and rewritten. They may never actually see the light of
day, but I’ll go through the motions nonetheless.
Now-a-days I write a lot and send out an equal amount in the hope I can
get what I’ve written published. The editing process happens a lot quicker
these days, though I am still hopping from one finished piece of work to
another. But saying that, I’ve only had a handful of stories published (mostly
within E-zines and for free), but rejection still happens. It’s inevitable, I
guess. And, yes, it still hurts when it happens ... but not as much as it used
to.
The best thing is, though, that I still manage a smile no matter how vague
the rejection is worded, because deep down there’s a part of me that believes (will
always believe) that they missed out on a treat.
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