Fiction has never come naturally for me; I think I’m afraid of it.
Baring my interior bones and guts has always seemed easier as an essay or poem, clearly or not so clearly structured, with details which start in a specific place and end not too far off in the distance.
My imagination is underdeveloped and underutilized. My thinking seldom wanders and tends toward black and white. It assesses, plans, implements.
Thus, when I see this quote by Ray Bradbury, I immediately view it as a challenge.
A friend recently suggested that Mr. Bradbury did not intend this statement as a challenge, and that’s true.
But the possibilities of this type of active, ongoing practice of writing can’t help but excite and motivate me.
What if one were to commit to this type of writing, a story each week, this frequent and consistent practice of the craft of short fiction?
Regardless of the outcome, I can’t help but appreciate the inevitable growth as a writer and person that might/must result. I hope my writing will improve. I hope my imagination will flourish more than it has. I hope all 52 stories aren’t crap. Mr. Bradbury reassures me there will be at least one good one.
Let’s find it.