I’m finding it harder these days to string more than a few dozen words together at a time. I blame Facebook and its cramped status-update field. Perhaps I should blame Twitter for its even tinier allowed character-count, but I’ve been on Facebook longer — and besides, it’s fashionable to be hating the FB right now.
Oh, the fiction is long enough. That is, it’s as long as it needs to be (about 1000 words per story these days). It’s the non-fiction update — the very definition of a blog post — that turns me taciturn and crimps the garden hose of metaphor that I use to feign wittiness. I check the mental notes of my day, looking for events of passing interest to people who aren’t me, and find myself skipping over anything that will take more than a sentence or two to write. Just the thought of putting all those words together one after another, laying them like bricks in a wall of text, is exhausting to to Facebook-crippled brain.
“Too long!” my inner critic rants. “Didn’t read!”
My inner critic is apparently something of a troll.
