I haven’t had coffee yet this morning, and seem to be afflicted with grasshopper mind. Fasten your seatbelt!
A friend asked me to write a paragraph for her blog and I just finished one about playing bridge. Which reminded me that I once wrote a short story called Grand Slam, which was published in a collection called Fit to Die from the Ladies Killing Circle. It’s a fun story about a bridge foursome, once of whom gets murdered (though that might not be everybody’s idea of fun). I thought it might be online now, but couldn’t find it.
In fact, I wrote several stories which were published in online magazines, but they have all disappeared except for Fishing Expedition, published by Amarillo Bay Magazine. That one’s not about fishing, by the way, but about paying the mortgage in an innovative way. Go check it out, if you like. Otherwise, go to Amazon or Smashwords and buy Harvest, a collection of my short stories!
I discovered that searching for my own name on Google meant wading through dozens and dozens of Tassie references. Not references to me or my stories, though. Tasmania, in Australia, is nicknamed Tassie, as are the people who live there. Sites about them abound. I’d love to visit Tasmania, but only if I could teleport.
I also found a comment on writing from Ernest Hemingway: Anyone who says he wants to be a writer and isn’t and isn’t writing, doesn’t.
True! And my advice to writers today is: never let the truth get in the way of a good story.