life ain't easy for a boy named sue

Posted on Posted in journal, the wages of salt, writing life

I sat down this morning to get words. On anything. I have a slew of unfinished short stories to choose from — I figured if I got words and finished any or all of those stories, that would be good. I could take one to the workshop at the end of this month (for which workshop I have, that's right, no story ready), I could get them all ready for submission.

Instead? I came up with a new story. And the beginning for it — not the words that start it all, oh no, nothing so easy, but I know where and why it starts. Just not the how. I also know the ending. It's the middle I'm kinda having trouble with, and that bugs me because for a short story I should be able to see that far ahead. (Maybe I can, and I'm doing that whole "ignoring the details in the middle because it doesn't seem enough even though it is" trick my conscious brain seems so fond of.)

But, and here's the kicker, do you think I can get words on it? No. Oh no. It kinda feels like week six at Clarion, with all those crit-voices camped in the back of my head, and nothing can stand up to that. The pressure, the pressure 😉

Okay, removing tongue from cheek now.

I've written down snippets, all of which wouldn't add up to 100 words probably, but that's not really a start.

Lucky there's nothing good on the idiotbox tonight.

4 thoughts on “life ain't easy for a boy named sue

  1. I have this irrational -thing- at the moment, in which I cannot write ANYTHING until I get my laptop.

    Not, I have to admit, that I've had any time the last few days, but still. Where on earth did you find a new short story to write? Is it actually a short story, or a novel in disguise?

  2. Yay irrationality. It's very inconvenient most of the time, but also strangely compelling.

    And I don't know where the short story came from. It better not be a novel in disguise, because right now I need short stories. So if it tries anything funny, it will discover my intractability and lo! it will never be more than a bonsai novel. Which is kindofbutnotquite like a short story. Sorta. Close enough.

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