If my memory serves me well, and I’m sure it does, I remember growing up through hot summers and cold winters. What has happened? Yesterday the garden resembled a tropical rain forest and today a low mist engulfs the vegetable plot. I’m assuming the cabbages, courgettes, beans and pumpkins are still there, shivering and wondering, like me, what the hell is going on. OK. Don’t be picky. I know they don’t think. Well, we assume they don’t. I also remember watching a programme on the TV once and each time a tree was chopped down it screamed. It’s something that I have never forgotten. Each time I prune I imagine a little voice yelping, ‘OUCH!.’ Yeah, you’re right. I’m bonkers. It’s not imperative – but it helps …
Moving on from this totally shit weather …
I rediscovered something about myself yesterday. I say ‘rediscovered’ because I’ve always known it. Sometimes I just forget. I don’t like long things. It’s a daft saying, I know, but less definitely is more. How so, I hear you say. Don’t know, I answer. I’ll try to explain.
I like to read blogs BUT if they are too long, say, more than 900/1,000 words, I do tend to lose interest. And the same with poetry. I find it really hard going soaking up lines and lines and lines and lines of verse. And perhaps I’m old-fashioned, or just plain ignorant, but I quite like poetry to rhyme. Perhaps I have an ‘editing’ issue? My preference for ‘less is more’ also carries over to speech. A perfect example of this is a politician.
Question. What is your party going to do about the homeless?
Politicians answer. We came into power and there was already a nationwide problem with homelessness. You could say we inherited it from the previous party …well …we did …no doubt about it. They ran the country into the ground. We will turn this country around. Make it safe to walk the streets … blah …blah ….blah’
What he meant was …nothing. One little word. Nothing. Why use fifty words when one will do?
Richard needs an editing course. I’ll say, ‘What time are we going?’
He’ll say, ‘Well, if we go now we’ll beat the traffic. But if we go later the traffic will have gone. But then we’ll have to stand around for an hour. So I’m not sure. What do you think?’
The answer, had he asked me the same question, would have been, ‘Get your boots on we are going now!’
And don’t go saying it’s the art of conversation because it isn’t. I lose interest with the answer if it has to go all around the houses and up the back-streets to reach me. Flipping ‘eck life’s too short my bloggy friends.
I also have a problem with short stories that go on for longer than 5,000 words. Forgive me but isn’t the clue in the title? Short? A short story, 1,5000/2,000 words is the epitome of editing. You need a beginning. A middle. And an end. The bits in between require chopping, contracting, tightening and losing. LESS IS MORE.
Funny, isn’t it, how I say all this and then still ramble on? Haha. But you see, rambling is quite different to waffling. Rambling takes years of perfecting. Waffling is something anyone can do.
I have to go. I can’t write when I’m hysterical … and I’m up to 735 words anyway!!! I let Chea out earlier and Richard is now standing at the door waffling about where she might be. He said he’s worried that if she goes over the back fence she won’t be able to get back. I said she will have to get back through the neighbour’s garden and then come back into ours. He said how would she know where the neighbours back entrance is? (no innuendoes thank you). I said I felt sure they work on scent more than sight – cats, not neighbours. He is now standing here giving hand signals saying, ‘Oh yeah, don’t they work on some sort of built-in navigation system? Don’t they home-in like pigeons? Don’t they have a sort of sat-nav and just tap-in take me home – with their little furry paw?’
Keep me sane. Any minute now and she could come flying down the path to join the other cuckoos in this particular crazy nest …