There’s 7 days left on this 365 project. Which is good. But when I start counting, there are only 44 Fiction Friday posts, despite my diligence in posting a short story every Friday.
52 weeks. 44 stories. It just doesn’t add up.
And if you’re friends with me on Facebook (that’s like, 3 of you), you’ll know that I’ve been celebrating everything I score another ten stories. The last one I did was not too long ago – about 4 weeks ago, when I hit 40 short stories published on this space.
Because a 365 project isn’t a 365 project if you don’t stop at 365, I’m still going to stick to that. But at the same time, it would also be good to have a nice 50 short stories published here – because even numbers are nice to have. Especially those divisible by 10.
(although I think that somewhere along the lines, we got it all wrong, and the universe should really be interpreted in base 12 instead)
I am going to write a short story every day for the next 6 days, bringing the total number of short stories written here to a full 50, and then for post number 365, I will say my final goodbyes. It sounds good at the moment. And don’t look at me like that.
I have a quota to fill, dammit.
Since this is technically the second last post, perhaps a wrap-up is in place. You know, like the final shot of the superheroes after they have saved New York City (again). Before the denouement kicks in and we’re back to our normal lives. Or if you’re in a Michael Bay movie, the part before Optimus Prime delivers his at-the-end-of-the-day/happily-ever-after speech.
But screw that. It’s past midnight and I have been awake since 7A.M. God knows there are more important things than fulfilling a daily 500-word quota. Sleep, for instance. If there’s something I learned over the last 365 days, one of it is that sleep is important. Even if you can’t get the mandatory 6 hours of sleep, take what you can get.
(salvage sleep like how you salvage money through tax exemptions, basically)
While we’re on that subject: there’s a picture floating about the internet about how “no one remembers the nights they had enough sleep”. And while I appreciate the spirit of adventure, I think I’d rather choose boring and alive over adrenaline-charged but dead any day. Unlike Icarus.
So off I go to my slumber. God also know that I’ll more than make up for the lost words when I begin to write my stories.
I’ll see you again next week.