I am going to take a moment to look back at my younger self…
I was a strange kid. I know, I’m sure you’re shocked.
I would write short stories on any blank space in front of me, and they were all crazy. I don’t know how I did that. I can’t write any short story to save my life now. I keep thinking I should write some and try to publish them just to have more things to try to publish and to make myself more of a credible author and all that, but I don’t have any short ideas, and I don’t like the idea of “wasting” my writing time on a short, small project when I have this big, fun project to do now.
But there will come a time when this big, fun project is finished. And there will come a time when I need space from it. (In the case of my last book I needed like 6 months of space.) So I think that would be the perfect time to try out some short stories.
So I just need to keep saying to myself, “Brain, percolate up some short ideas for me, so when the time comes I can call upon you to fill me up. Short. Short. Short. Or I could think, “Act like I’m 15 now…” No, definitely not that.
Now I have a plan. We’ll just see how that goes. *Not too positive, but still hopeful*