Worry Writer Style

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ry gets you nowhere. Worry never has, and it never will.</blockquote>I also wrote pretty much all of two stories yesterday. I did the same the day before. None of the four are finished. My 12-document file has 187 pages and 82k words. These are all partially finished stories. Shoot, 82k words will get you a book.I named the file 12 back in the day when Word wanted to know what to save the document as. In those days I tossed partly finished stories. It was December, and I’d written a date at the top of the document. Word decided it would call it 12 because I wasn’t responding quickly enough to call it Partially Finished Stories or some such blather. Sort of like a file 13, except I wasn’t throwing them away. I was saving them to finish up later.My point is that I think people are not reading on the weekends. I mean, everybody works hard. Maybe they have lives outside of work and do fun things. Or they could be doing chores. Whatever it is, they are surely not reading my stuff.Is it boring? I don’t think so. Boring would be discussing baseball stats. Or drinking. I’m an old lady, and I’ve seen a lot of pavement in my life. I’ve lived in 20 different places in my lifetime. I’ve never really set

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down roots in any of them. I am a rootless nomad, even though it’s been 35 years in the place where I’m currently living. I still don’t think of it as home.I guess I just needed some encouragement. Write in the face of silence. Write just because. Write to tell a story. Write to give yourself a voice. Even if it sometimes sounds like a long, drawn-out Arrrrgggghhhh.<blockquote id="c021">Don’t pay attention to the popular kids. They have their own lives, and you have yours.</blockquote>Hey, do you want some company?Yes. Who is it?It’s your mother.Hi Mom. I could use a hug.Note from the author: I’m a psychic channel. That was my mother. I put what she said in bold italic font. She died 20 years ago. If you’ve got somebody who has passed that you’d like a hug from, just ask them. You might not feel it. You might not hear them. It doesn’t matter. Pretend.Thanks for reading. Maybe I’ll fish out one of the partly finished stories today and see if it’s still viable.<a href="https://pmevanosky.medium.com/subscribe">🌸°•°🌸 Pauline 🌸°•°🌸</a></article></body>

What the Popular Kids Are Doing

What the other kids are talking about— Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

I am retired. I work every day. Well, I write every day. Work sounds like I’m getting paid for it. I have to stop obsessing about that. However, I’m noticing a trend. It’s twofold and takes me back to the popular girls in school.

What did they have that I didn’t have? Well, I was shy. Shy to the point where it was ridiculous. But I worried about them. I wanted to be like them. It never worked, and then, one day, it didn’t matter.

So, why am I thinking about that? I check my stats at Medium every single day. Yesterday, Martin Luther King Day was a holiday in the US. Nobody read my stuff. I mean, I can’t say my reads are stupendous overall. I’m not complaining about it. What I’m concerned about is I am worried.

Worry gets you nowhere. Worry never has, and it never will.

I also wrote pretty much all of two stories yesterday. I did the same the day before. None of the four are finished. My 12-document file has 187 pages and 82k words. These are all partially finished stories. Shoot, 82k words will get you a book.

I named the file 12 back in the day when Word wanted to know what to save the document as. In those days I tossed partly finished stories. It was December, and I’d written a date at the top of the document. Word decided it would call it 12 because I wasn’t responding quickly enough to call it Partially Finished Stories or some such blather. Sort of like a file 13, except I wasn’t throwing them away. I was saving them to finish up later.

My point is that I think people are not reading on the weekends. I mean, everybody works hard. Maybe they have lives outside of work and do fun things. Or they could be doing chores. Whatever it is, they are surely not reading my stuff.

Is it boring? I don’t think so. Boring would be discussing baseball stats. Or drinking. I’m an old lady, and I’ve seen a lot of pavement in my life. I’ve lived in 20 different places in my lifetime. I’ve never really set down roots in any of them. I am a rootless nomad, even though it’s been 35 years in the place where I’m currently living. I still don’t think of it as home.

I guess I just needed some encouragement. Write in the face of silence. Write just because. Write to tell a story. Write to give yourself a voice. Even if it sometimes sounds like a long, drawn-out Arrrrgggghhhh.

Don’t pay attention to the popular kids. They have their own lives, and you have yours.

Hey, do you want some company?

Yes. Who is it?

It’s your mother.

Hi Mom. I could use a hug.

Note from the author: I’m a psychic channel. That was my mother. I put what she said in bold italic font. She died 20 years ago. If you’ve got somebody who has passed that you’d like a hug from, just ask them. You might not feel it. You might not hear them. It doesn’t matter. Pretend.

Thanks for reading. Maybe I’ll fish out one of the partly finished stories today and see if it’s still viable.