I don’t have very much to talk about right now, mostly because I’m not doing very much right now. I think a writer in the midst of a book is probably a pretty dull person to talk to.
I think I hit about 50,000 words of the book so far (I don’t know the exact number, most of that is handwritten). I’m powering along. I think I’m a third of the way through it, that’s how the story feels.
I’m having so much fun. I haven’t had this much fun with writing in a number of years. A LOT of years. It’s terrific. Today, I wrote a scene I didn’t know was going to happen, and it reconfigured a later element of the book in a very useful way.
An interesting difference between handwriting and typing, at least for this, is that when I’m typing a story, a novel, I seem to bring on and discard ideas more or less constantly, the book running off in a new direction every workday. With this book, I’m bringing on new ideas, but discarding nothing. Everything stays, and fits, and works, and functions. It’s very nice. I compared my current process to someone as being less like running marathon toward the end of the novel (endurance) and more like making a very complex clock (precision clockwork).
Good times, folks, good times.
I made a list of short stories to write and short stories to re-write. I made a decision midway through November that all the short stories I have that are unsold (maybe ten?) are Scrapped. They’re all going to get looked at, and then written brand new. I feel like I’ve got the muscle to support my ideas, which had gone ahead of me.
I’m being awfully boring, aren’t I? Sorry.
I had some delicious tea today. Twinings made this Christmas Tea which is delicious. Oddly, it tastes lousy when it’s made by the cup (it’s tea bags), but if I take two bags, put ’em in a pot and pour water on them, then it makes a delicious pot of tea. I’m enjoying that very much.
The hardest thing is that I don’t ALWAYS make my seven pages every day. It’s rough. I write every day, I sometimes do about five pages, but then my wife gets home, or I get busy, or a toddler freaks out, and I don’t quite make it to seven. Or I do, but by that point, there’s no one awake to let me on the internet.
still, there’s worse things than having to strive, and fail occasionally, for your art. That is the goal, to strive, to seek, and never to yield. To quote James Joyce. (right? Ulysses? I could google, but I’ll just trust my memory instead.)
Right. that’s it for me tonight. I’m off to drink a lot of water, watch my wife play “Fat Princess” on the Playstation 3 (seriously fun little game) and then read until I fall asleep.