filler

i don't have anything in mind to write about now, i just feel like writing. i think it has something to do with work. i've been doing a lot of report writing today, and will be doing a lot of writing (not the research, that's done) in upcoming weeks, and i think with me, once i let my writing genie out of its bottle, it ain't gonna go back in willingly. i'm going to have to stuff the writing genie, fighting, down that narrow neck, and plug the cork. there is little doubt in my mind that i will be lying in bed tonight writing in my head. (sometimes i wonder why i don't just get OUT of bed and write the shit down already, just so i can sleep, but there's a war going on between my creative brain and my lazy i-like-my-comfy-sheets-and-my-cuddly-man brain and so far, lazy ILMCSAMYCM is winning. i have 500 thread count sheets.)

i confess that i haven't been reading as much news lately, so i've got no funny or quirky or horrible material to use as a muse. the weather here is lovely. it's finally starting to warm up, and everything is a verdant, vibrant green. the smell of fresh plant life in the air is just about intoxicating. the bad news? i can't hide under my winter coat and heavy jeans anymore. sigh. shorts season is upon us again. how white are my legs? blinding white. they reflect light like the purest black absorbs it. we got a new barbeque grill, and have been utilizing it to great effect (warning to all you vegetarians out there: graphic material about the consumption of animal flesh forthcoming). we christened it with new york steaks, and since that first usage have had flame-kissed chicken fajitas, barbeque pork chops, and hamburgers. i've purchased some beautiful pork loins that i plan to marinate, grill and serve with warm tortillas and homemade salsa (read: pork tenderloin tacos, one of the yummiest meat dishes EVER). i got my first sunburn at baseball on saturday, and it was overcast that day AND i wore sunscreen. guess i'd better buy a hat. one of those old lady wide-brimmed ones. how incredibly summer-y all this is. talk to me in a month when i'm so fucking hot i can't sleep and i'm bitching about how much i miss central air conditioning.

so, what else? the book. i've been learning lessons while writing personal demons, and that's a good thing. yet, the fact that i've learned these lessons during the process scares me into thinking that personal demons was largely a waste of time. yes, i think it has been a success as a learning tool, but i also think it might be a failure as a Good Book. as jean would no doubt point out, i am not finished with it yet, and it won't be until i do a real read through of the whole thing that i can say whether or not it is a book i'd like to purchase and read. i guess that should be a true test of how "good" it is -- did i like reading it? anyway, the point of this is not to crap on personal demons, but to say that i'm looking forward to starting the next one, a different series with different characters and a different cosmology. i'm even considering writing it in third-person omniscient, which i've never experimented with before. all the short stories and books (total -- 3 book starts, and 2/3 of 1 whole, heh) i've ever written have been in first-person. i plan to write this one according to the eight rules of writing fiction by kurt vonnegut, which are, unlike most rules, very helpful, and i think a succinct approximation of what, apart from an interesting story, makes for a great book. holy comma splices, batman! don't get me wrong -- i'm going to finish personal demons, and i'm going to do it the best i can, to make it the best book that i can given what tools i've provided for myself so far, to do the best i can for the characters i've created that i really, truly do like and respect. but i am looking toward the horizon, toward something that gives me an opportunity to stretch again, this time with the flexibility and grace i developed doing clumsy, fumbling moves in personal demons.

i think that's it. the genie has been squished into its bottle. i'm out.

i waited all this time for THAT?

fair warning, dear reader, that will be your question when you finish reading this post which consists of a heaping helping of bitch with a side of aged whine (with a floral bouquet).

a person shouldn't post on their blog when they are feeling depressed, by the way.

am having, predictably (god, i hate how boring i am), and yet again, book publishing angst. sure, i'm not done yet, am only maybe 2/3 of the way done, but i am thinking about the quality of my writing a lot which leads to the question of getting an agent, and getting published, and finally, getting paid. i am not a deep person. i don't have deep writing. i write in a genre that is hot, hot, hot right now, but might be not, not, not hot by the time i finish. i'm not writing in the genre because it's hot, but because i love it. whether or not i love it does not matter to the publishing industry. sometimes, love just ain't enough.

so the question is -- how do i motivate myself to write through these doubts? i am a goal-oriented person. don't laugh. i really am. i need to have predictable outcomes, need to know that if i input a, i will get output b. and with this whole writing thing, it's driving absolutely fucking crazy that i don't know what the outcome is going to be -- i mean i know i will have a 300 page book manuscript on my hard drive, and that's something important... but the other stuff is important too. the recognition that what you have done is worth someone else's time. the fact that it's out of my control past a certain point makes me feel, to paraphrase frodo, like butter scraped over too much bread. or, alternatively, like my head is going to explode.

tentatively...

i think i'm done editing. at least until i finish the first draft. ;)