A year or two ago, I thought I'd have a bash at short story writing, or "committing the act of fiction" as Peter Sirr puts it. I dashed off about four or five (probably not the way to do it, I know) and sent them off to some competitions. No joy. Took them back, revised them, cut them, cut them again. Sent them off again. Nah.
After some more paring, by which time I was heartily sick of them, I thought I'd give them one final run out, entering them for the Twisted Tails short story competition, judged by the wonderful Nuala ni Chonchuir
I see the results are now up on www.twisted-tails.com and though I've scanned the list 47 times, I'm not up there.
I think that probably sees the end of my foray into short story writing. My attention span is far too short.