A South African follower of Arthur asks, “How might my followers and I collaborate with you?” Twitter’s constraints hamstring the writing of a story … to view.
Accustomed to being hamstrung, Art accepted the odd challenge. “At least,” thought he, “it will be others hamstringing me, not myself. … And it can’t be … impossible.”
Art didn’t foresee the manifold difficulties in the oddity of the challenge. Of particular concern to the near friendless Arthur: How to … in but a month … friends earn?
Garrulous by nature, the betrayals consumed Arthur from the inside out. Not one to retaliate in kind, he’d spun himself a coccoon to avert … further backstabbing.
Death, divorce and excruciating betrayals left a heart desolate. Under such circumstances, early retirement from society seemed apt. So he’d retired … drunkenly.
Being, drinking and thinking alone brought disturbing thoughts. They impinged upon what he mistakingly thought was peace. An end like Hemingway’s? … To be …. or not to be?
Therapeutic writing and abiding faith, faithfully sustained him. Art dreams Twitter’s upcoming Festival of Fiction, he’ll be … a platform … a-building.