I’m asked often, if everything I write is true.
Let’s put it this way…imagine writing on a long strip of elastic, truth slightly stretched, to enlighten and entertain.
Emily Dickinson called it, writing on slant. I call it, accessorizing, yet don’t consider myself a fiction writer. Wish I had it in me to pen a novel, to be as prolific as Hemingway, Jane Austen and Stephen king.
Thousands of words creating make-believe, take my breath away.
David Stewart is a gifted fictioneer, if you will, penning dozens of spare, pithy pieces, many no more than 300 words, written wonderfully, with sparkle, wit and ease…sigh.
As for me, I just love to write, plain and simple. Mick from England once asked if I was ever lonely. “No,” I said, without pause, “not as long as I can write.”
How can one be lonesome with so many nouns, verbs and adjectives to keep you company, poetic license becoming a rite of passage.