this is my journal ... i write it as i go ... it has typos ... it's not perfect ... but then ... neither am i


Image
February 22, 2000
6:31 a.m.

 
 
     I've spent the past couple days sorting through one of those images.

     I get them every now and again, you know? I think every writer does at some level. I figure they are stories just dying to get out. At least I like to think that way. The reality, though, is that sometimes they aren't stories at all. Sometimes they are just scenes that never develop into anythin else. This one has been a single scene since Friday or Saturday, actually. Only this morning did it really congeal into anything useful--and still it's missing its central forcing function.

     I've written the opening, though. So, we'll see where it takes me tomorrow. I figure I'll give myself until the weekend to piddle with it, then I'll focus back on Lords of Existence and see if I can get through the storyboard read.

     I'm having a real hard time concentrating on anything long enough to feel really successful since the Dares. No, I don't think it's burn-out. No, I don't know what it is. Maybe it's just life catching up. But suddenly there has just been a thousand little things to do, and they all add up steal away bits of my writing time (he says as he types away at his journal).

     Yeah, yeah, yeah...

     By the way. I did manage to luck into one of the best writing avoidance moments of some time yesterday. I settled into reading Vera Nazarian's "Rossia Moya" and came away wonderfully impressed. If you've got fifteen or thirty minutes to spare and you want a really nice return for that time, you might zip over there and see about picking up a copy of that anthology.




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