My A Collection of Shorts: But not clothing of a certain length is nearly ready for the self-publishing route.
I’ve sent several short stories to publishers for consideration and entered two in contests. If rejected or rights returned, those stories will be include in my short story collection.
An Adventure to Ross, a historical novella/novel 3depending on final word count is being updated with recent research. I expect to have it finished early next year. Also, I have several well started or just started could be novels in my files. Each needs further development or endings.
My writing file has ten items ready to become blog posts at an appropriate time. However, those times might never happen.
FYI, I still struggle with making this forum an opinion page. But My current opinion is still that I should avoid stating my opinions so, no one gets a feeling that I’m presenting a deliberate misinterpretation of an opinion related or unrelated to a fact or other opinion. So, well, …
As my octogenarianism continues, my mind wanders as I wonder. Or could it be that my mind wonders as I wander? It is a fact that I have opinions – or is it?
Martha Christopherson, my grandfather Louis L Larson’s sister lived in a tiny house in Alexandria, Minnesota. By some standards of the TV series Tiny House Natation it was large – 675 sq.ft. exterior dimensions.
It certainly wasn’t anything like depicted on the show. The show emphasizes modern living in a small space. But Aunt Martha managed in this one.
My sister recalls, “If I remember right, it had the living room on the right, a bedroom on the left, a small dining area behind the living room and then the kitchen and across the hall another very small bedroom. I don’t remember if the bathroom was inside or outside.” And, “The house was so fitting for Aunt Martha because she was just a tiny woman herself. I think in 5th grade, I was the same height as she was.”
But the our great-Aunt was only little in statue. She was the age I am now (85) or older when I saw her using a push-mower to mow her lawn. My last conversation with her was when she had returned from her daily walk to the grocery store. It went something like:
“Aunt Martha you didn’t get much, could I give you a ride so you can get more?”
“No,” She said. “At my age if I by more than for a day or so, it might go to waste.”
She lived to be 92 and didn’t exceed her needs with a bigger house or more groceries.
If Aunt Martha’s house could talk, what could it say?
As my octogenarianism continues, my mind wanders as I wonder. Or could it be that my mind wonders as I wander?