Thought-Drive

And January had seemed like such an interminably long month... I had told myself I'd start writing in February, and that I'd give myself until the end of summer to finish these next projects. I couldn't remember how long the previous craziness took me, but that seemed feasible. And if not feasible, then necessary. There are whispers of my position becoming full time in the fall, with benefits and responsibilities and that oppressive weight which I've heard that smites writers (hm, I think I just indirectly characterized myself as a writer). But then things got lost in the weekend as I discovered old friends. January 31st. It's the end of February, my calendar shouted at me, and I woke from something like a dream. Because in my driving to this place and that, pumping gas and putting cheese squares on bread, checking the mail and brushing my teeth, I discovered holes in the narratives I've been trying to build. "Hey, wasn't there some villain I wrote ab...

A good metaphor I came up with recently to explain my brain (good because it was effective) was that there's a little mouse constantly running on a wheel in my mind, which anything could be affixed to and that without even trying, my mind spins on it until I replace the thought with anything else. As such, the last week has been spent recharging my batteries, which I guess amounts to letting the mouse just run with nothing to turn, and spending moments here and there thinking about what I've decided to do next, which involves putting various related ideas on the wheel, but for limited amounts of time. This morning I woke up and found myself ready to write. It was a good feeling to track down all the notes I had taken, loose sheets of different color, out-dated flyers or color coded documents on one side, scribbled paragraphs on the other, and put them together. Some of them had sprouted like weeds in the midst of my last project, and I had put them away to sift through later....

On Saturday, the envelope went out. Contained therein were the first three chapters and introduction, which came out to a couple hundred words over 10,000. I felt happy with that because the submission guidelines called for the same amount of words if the book's chapters were very long or very short. Maybe that means my chapters are almost just right? Also in the pack was the requested cover letter, which I drafted once and finished, and the synopsis which took me longer than a chapter would. For some reason I focused on it the most, likely because it was so difficult. I tried explaining the phenomenon to a friend, that I probably don't spend enough time practicing the art of selling my work. Someone told me about the "elevator pitch," wherein the writer has roughly 30 seconds alone with whichever power player with agency and clout to sell them on an idea. And I'm still not sure if it involves compressing the entire work down to 30 seconds or expatiating on the m...

Today I am embracing my heritage, birthright even, of blaming the weather. I might have updated this days ago, but the most ready excuse is that I was sick (under the weather, see what I did there?). It was an odd experience, being legitimately ill, feeling too bad to move or eat or think. I haven't been like that in years. I feel much better now, but there is the persistent cough, and the less regular coughing up of things, all of which makes me think of lungers in the old west. I feel like I should be walking with a limp and sporting a scowl. Then there's the pesky blizzard. Right this second, I'm being informed via machine that I'll be out of work again tomorrow. Crazy start to the year, I think qualifies. But I have been writing. Chapter 23 was drafted today. I was telling a friend about how excited I was about the process, and I even went so far as to describe the different stages, as I know them, of novel writing. The first part is awful. There's no momentum...