Don't tell anyone

I wasn't supposed to do any work during the holidays. As you've read here, I've been slightly depressed and also may have had the first anxiety attack of my life. So, I decided to take it easy.

And I did. I watched the whole Tolkien film, ate lots of Xmas food and chocolate (and gained two kilograms), read some books (Fury by G.M. Ford is a good read, let me tell you that, even though it's a tad overlong with too many point-of-view characters) and saw the last episode of Six Feet Under (may have to blog about that later on).

But then, all of a sudden I wrote a short story. It took just twenty minutes before Six Feet Under last Tuesday and some ten to fifteen minutes during the commercials. It's an experimental fantasy story, with something of horror in it, told entirely as witness testimonies (even though the story spans, or at least seems to span, several years or even decades). It's very short, with only 1700 words, but I hope there's enough to tickle a fancy. I'm sending if off to a short story contest with the deadline next Sunday. Wish me luck! (It's appropriate that I now read through the story and also happen to read an interview with G.M. Ford in which he says that all writers have to do is conquer self-doubt.)