This morning I wrote 89 words on a short story that had to be written now. Yup, that's right: 89 words. Obviously this story's idea mugging is going to be a long, sloooooow process. I think part of the problem is I have all the major elements, but none of the details. And lately, I've found I don't trust myself, or my process. Always over-conscious, and always second-guessing myself. Which is rather an uncomfortable situation to be in, it's true; but I'm not too worried (yet) because I've worked hard to make writing a more conscious process. (I can't help it, I'm a control freak.) Also, when stuff I know how to do without thinking about it becomes awkward and uncomfortable, it means my backbrain is trying to assimilate something new. Yay, right?
Another problem — one I'm much less sanguine about — is that lately, the editing brain is permanently switched on. Worse, the marketing brain is permanently switched on as well, and that little meatpuppet is whispering poisonous nothings from my shoulder every time I venture to put a word on paper. Not particularly helpful in getting a first draft down.
Note to self: get over it, and write. You can catch all the details in the next draft. That's what the comment balloons are for, remember? (I'm told patience is a virtue; and it may be so, but it's never been one of mine 😉 )
To distract myself, I have been surprisingly domesticated. Those of you who know about the ten-minute rule1 may want to sit down: I am cooking as I write.
That's right. Vegetable soup, bubbling away on the stove. And not just a single-serve out of a can type of soup, but raw vegetables chopped and cut and steeping in chicken stock. And enough to last me at least a half-dozen meals, at that. This is how you know I'm feeling rather angry at my stories, you see 🙄
The cat has been amusing me today by vanquishing the clean clothes from the laundry basket, and dragging his "kill" to show me. His latest victim is the blanket from the couch, but I think the blanket won out by secreting a sleepy pheromone, because midway through the vanquishing he's crept underneath and snuggled down for a nap. It's a tough life when you're a kitten.
- For those who've not heard of my ten-minute rule, it's perhaps even more restrictive than you might imagine. The rule is, a meal should take no more than ten minutes to prepare and cook. If it takes any longer, eat it after 10 minutes anyway. It means I cook a lot of rice and pasta dishes, and often eat slightly crunchy rice. I live with the constant dream that, one day in the near future, we will eat via a single pill a day. It's my version of the flying car. [↩]