writers write
Was chatting with Dirk Flinthart on the weekend (once the obligatory baby notes had been compared) about the whole 'Writers Write' thing. I confessed that I've been feeling somewhat uneasy about that lately, and he pointed out that if writers don't write for a long pieriod of time, it starts eating at you. He's got a six week old baby and two toddlers, and has suddenly decided that he *has* to write a book by the end of the year. No time for the 120,000 worder so he's started from scratch with a 50,000 kids book.
I admitted that I had in fact written two shorts in the last month, which was the first real writing I'd done since May. And it hasn't stopped there. I'm leaking stories like rice through a sieve. On Sunday I came up with an entire short story while doing the washing up, and still haven't had a chance to write it all down. Last night I was lying there in my fake doze at 11:30, waiting for the baby to wake up for her final feed, and my brain started hcugging through solutions for my pink boots story.
Today I should be making a class plan and reading manuscripts for my online class tomorrow night, and putting together the handout for next week's Adult Ed class. And once all that's done, I should be working on my thesis. And at some point I should pay some attention to my baby. But I have two stories now, gnawing at my ankles and begging for attention.
Kind of reminds me of the situation in my third (still unpublished) Mocklore book, which is based around the startlingly original idea that if you have magic, and you try to ignore it, it starts leaking out in strange and unpredictable ways. At this rate I'll wake up tomorrow with a couple of novel outlines scrawled on the bedsheets.
I admitted that I had in fact written two shorts in the last month, which was the first real writing I'd done since May. And it hasn't stopped there. I'm leaking stories like rice through a sieve. On Sunday I came up with an entire short story while doing the washing up, and still haven't had a chance to write it all down. Last night I was lying there in my fake doze at 11:30, waiting for the baby to wake up for her final feed, and my brain started hcugging through solutions for my pink boots story.
Today I should be making a class plan and reading manuscripts for my online class tomorrow night, and putting together the handout for next week's Adult Ed class. And once all that's done, I should be working on my thesis. And at some point I should pay some attention to my baby. But I have two stories now, gnawing at my ankles and begging for attention.
Kind of reminds me of the situation in my third (still unpublished) Mocklore book, which is based around the startlingly original idea that if you have magic, and you try to ignore it, it starts leaking out in strange and unpredictable ways. At this rate I'll wake up tomorrow with a couple of novel outlines scrawled on the bedsheets.