But first this: In an attempt to provide my One-Minute Memoir, I overlooked the fact that I’d have to pay for my life.
There is no way somebody will make me pay for my creativity. I mean, if I can’t get others to pay me, for sure no way in hell I’ll pay somebody else for making me create and submit what I’ve created.
The same goes for photographers who at first provide free photo feedback to their followers but then slowly start dropping hints that it’s time we start paying them back for their generosity.
How much should I charge for each door that I show you? For every nutria? Jumping dog? Grinning mom?
This is not to say that I have any bad blood with the organisers of the One-Minute Memoir challenge, even though they failed to mention the paying part in their announcement. Obviously this is how it’s done over there.
So I had to add another list to my Trello (thanks, Dan!) next to “To do”, “Doing” and “Done”. It says “Changed my mind”.
Good thing that I only just started writing my memoir before this discovery and not finished it, or I’d be much pissier. But since I’ve started it, let me finish it here on my blog. And then I can pay myself a gelato for every word.
Oh, and if somebody wishes to make their own, bummer. The deadline runs out today.
They were looking for “ultra-flash nonfiction of 100-150 words”. Here are mine.
Let’s see how much 150 words really is:
Yugoslavia, Slovenia. Seventies starting.
Ljubljana mother+Maribor father=child, baaam!
First in wide family. Little miracle.
Still recovering from not being one.
Two loving grandparent couples.
Father’s father: stern but win-overable. I learn.
Father’s mother: handy elegance.
Mother’s father: determined joker.
Mother’s mother: opera lover.
Kindergarten: bastards withhold water.
School: sick first year.
Education = oppression.
Looking bad in comparison.
English / Journalism.
Four years. Didn’t finish.
Half-Italian boyfriend. Italian school.
Living together. Five years.
NATO attacks Serbia.
Žak, the saviour.
Thirteen years and gone.
So many words!
Could have done it in fewer.
In the gallery today, the city of my paternal grandmother whose birthday is today. Alas, her husband, my stern grandfather, died on this day too, many years before her, so she never celebrated it after that. Imagine that. The photos were taken last summer when we raided Maribor, the second biggest Slovenian city, for one day. Don’t worry, grandma, now we can celebrate all together.