So I’ve been working on this novel again. When I started, I projected that it would be finished by the end of this weekend. It looks like it’s going to be close, as I’m down to the last 60 pages or so and the heavy work is clearly done.
Yeah, I know. I said the hard work was mostly done in my last post. But this past week I found myself in an 80-page block of story that really just didn’t work. So I went back and hacked and slashed and re-hacked and re-slashed. I’ve now come out the other side, and have convinced myself it’s all downhill now.
For what it’s worth, I’ve been frustrated with it in a good way–meaning that I’m finding myself upset that I’ve come to the end of my morning writing because I’m deeply interested continuing on the work.
In the meantime, Lisa and I have taken to spending time in the health club again. Despite walking around with a set of constantly tender muscles I admit I feel better. The reason I mention it, though, has nothing in particular to do with health or wellness. Instead, it’s relevant here because I’ve taken to using the time on the treadmill by loading up my iPod and listening to audio stories and interviews with writers.
I’ve listened to old, and kinda-corny-but-oh-so-cool old radio shows, including an adaptation of Pohl and Kornbluth’s “The Space Mercants” and Ray Bradbury’s “The Rocket.” I’ve listened to stories from the New yorker, and I’ve listened to the thoughts of writers from about a ke-trillion genres.
Great stuff, of course, and all while burning off a bunch of calories.