Thursday, August 19, 2010


As those of you who follow my twitter likely already know, I recently suffered the loss of the novel I was working on. Three spiral-bound notebooks of notes and writing have disappeared into the world. Despite having put my name and number into the front of each & begging return should they be found, I've received no calls (nor do I expect to). Most likely they've been sent off to the dump, along with my ancient Jansport covered in faded patches and rusting pins.

I've let this keep me from writing, which is really just shameful. I should be rewriting like mad while it's still somewhat fresh. At the very least I should draft up some new notes. Instead I just stare sorrowfully at my screen and stuff my nose into books I've already read. It's not that I don't know what to write, it's just that I'm not doing it. Such is the difference between the weekend warrior & the professional.

At the recommendation of MacAllister Stone, I did read one new book. Grammar should be fun, and this book makes it just that: It was the Best of Sentences, It was the Worst of Sentences. It may not be very interesting to those of you who do not have any interest in writing mechanics (and reading mechanics, for that matter), but I found it to be an absolute joy.

And now I'm off to pen a short for you lovely folks. Tomorrow is a full day of work, followed by an evening of rewriting. No more of this mopey nonsense.

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