I was put on call last night so I didn't have to work. I spent most of it dozing on the new giant sof-zilla (very comfy). So today, instead of being my "wasted" day, spent taking a short nap and doing mindless chores in an effort to just stay awake long enough to go to bed at night like a real person, is an extra day.
This morning, I was given my marching orders: finish my short story, write a brilliant essay for Skirt! and get a fantastic idea for my next novel, and if I have time, finish my current novel-in-progress (although its current progress very closely resembles the progress one makes along Highway 61 in the evening commute).
No pressure, huh?
I'm aiming for a good chunk of work on the short story (have already done a page and a half this morning, thank you very much). I can't write essays without ending up sounding like some preachy elementary school teacher, my essay writing career is 99% wishful thinking, so that is not going to happen. At least not today.
Yeah, and after lunch, I'll get right on finishing that novel, I mean, I've got at least 20 pages done, it should be snap to sqeeze out two hundred more pages between loads of laundry, right?
But I've been fairly good in the whole writer wanna-be mode. My entry to the SC Fiction Project finally found a title and was sent out on time. I fluffed up an old bit and sent it in to Glimmer Train.
And I'm liking this new story so far, but I'm thinking it is going to end up more novella length than short story length. I'm so long winded! I wander, I roam, I explore the insides of people's minds. I'm such a Southern writer I make myself sick. I want to be short and slick and chock full of razor sharp insights. I want snazzy and fresh and hip. But instead, I border on Faulkner length, rambling on and on in search of a period. I get my copies back from critics and proof readers filled with red dots.
But I've also learned that I can only be what I am. I can only write how I write. I can learn my weaknesses and faults and be on guard against them, but I have to let the story unfold the way it will.
Thor sez: Excuse me, but will this extra time of yours involve providing lunch for us? Because we are starving half to death in case you hadn't noticed in your writerly fugue.