Thursday, 18 June 2015

A Book of Any Length...

Not too long ago, I came across someone on Twitter whose bio said he'd written scores of books. Given how challenging it is to realize even that first book most of us have inside, it left me wondering just how lengthy, and of what quality, those books were. How is it some people make writing look so easy? You know what they say, right? Every writer soon learns that a book that's easy to read is hard to write. (Or something like that.)

As I make way for hundreds of writers in my Twitter space, I've begun to pick up on a few things. One of them is this: A very short how-to book that has been published solely for an e-reader platform is still considered a book. Got an eBook of 12 pages? It's still a book. And it's been published. So, the author can (and does) claim to be a published author. Write a few scores of those kinds and you can in fact claim to have written scores of books! 

Here's the thing: In years past, I probably would not have claimed very short (adult) books as books per se. I'd have probably called works of that length short stories or viewpoints or something, then compile them for a far lengthier work for which I could more worthily claim the title of author. But that way of thinking is what would've been left over from a programmed perception, if you will.

Fast forward. I've been thinking of a few short pieces. Enter eBook ideas. The following is part of one of these yet unfinished pieces. Perhaps I could embark on a series of eBooks in which I share something along these lines - and what can't be read between the lines. I've always thought of developing (or publishing "as is") some of these blog posts. I shall ponder this in my heart. 

There have been times when I held on for too long after I should have let go, second guessing my gut and wondering whether my impatience had yet again overridden longsuffering. I don't let go until the ugly is undeniable and irrefutable. A big step up from cutting them off at the first sign of betrayal of trust. But, a long way down from what is sensible. Then, I let go. I take myself away. The words go first. I follow on their heels. A moment to embrace my new normal is necessary. Given the signs, the cleaning and cleansing had begun - bit by bit. After letting go, I breathe; I hold myself; I assure myself I need this time, this moment, to just be still. And I declutter, starting in my mind. I am strong. I find comfort in knowing I am not worse for the wear. I sowed good seeds. And, I was sincere.


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