A fine morning here in Fringeland. I did the mama thing, then came home to take a fresh look at the story I finished yesterday. I have to tell ya, I’m not being hard on myself, there’s some major suckage in there. I corrected some glaring instant-humiliation-if-I-drop-dead-and-someone-goes-into-my-Word-files mistakes, and then closed the file. I realized two very important things. One, I meant what I’ve been saying. It’s just fine to have written a crappy story, it was an exercise in forcing myself to write again, and write fresh. I’m shocking myself with how true that feels–especially since I also spent some time lurking on the writers’ forum, reading a thread about the best short stories ever written. Two, low sodium Wheat Thins taste like crap.
I then opened the file of the romance I started a while back. I’m not sure I remembered I had three completed chapters. And you know what? I like it. And I was able to get right back into my heroine’s head. I always forget how much fun it can be to read or write a light romance. And I think this is exactly where I should be right now. So, how come I’m not writing at the moment? Oh, that pesky life thing. I have a dog to walk in an hour, and then I have to pick up Flower Child an hour after that. I’m also hoping the jackhammering going on across the street will be finished for the day by the time I sit down. With a little luck and a lot of self discipline I’ll be able to block everyone and everything out later this afternoon. I need to do a little more outlining before going further with the story.
I know some can just pick up their pencils, or open their files, and write whenever they’ve got a spare 20 or 30 minutes. I’m not that disciplined, and need at least a two hour block of time. Trust me, it isn’t a wri-tah thing for me, I can’t get into the right head to exercise either if I’ve only got 20 minutes.
In case anyone was wondering, Little Incredibly Dumb Dog is still filthy, and Big Senile Dog is back to counter surfing. He drank Husband’s coffee yesterday, and I had to drag both of them away from a smooshed rat when giving them a walk this morning. I wonder why no one writes a cookbook for roadkills of the city?