You want to talk to God. Let’s go see him together.

I’m not sure it was due to divine intervention, but I have finally assembled the skeleton of a plot. It’s been nearly two weeks of teeth gnashing to get to this point. I think I quit the writing gig at least twice during that time, and I’m rarely one to give up hope. That’s how frustrating the whole thing was.

But I think it makes sense.

I think it’s simple.

I think it doesn’t get in the way of the characters and is, rather, a vehicle to show off the characters.

It is, if nothing else, a starting point.

Posted in On Writing | Leave a comment

The pinnacle of narcissim

I’ve been reading my own blog. What kind of self-centered time waster is that?

Regardless, it reminded me that I haven’t blogged since I finished the last short story. It’s good, or at least I think it is. The feedback I received was largely positive, and the broken stuff was all fixable. In short order I will find out how successful I was in the fix-i-fying, as I have submitted to one market.

Fingers crossed.

Posted in On Writing | Leave a comment

I play the pan flute

I’m way behind on my 24, but I’ve got to say, I’m digging Bill’s “John Tesh” sort of look and attitude.

He looks like William Katt’s dad.

Posted in On Writing | Leave a comment

Where I’ve been

In case there are three curious folks out there, I’ve been absent from blogging while I pound away at the latest short story. The first readable draft is now ready for the light of day. It’s sad to think it, but, so far, all the changes have been my changes. My harshest criticisms. The beat-down from my peers still awaits.

Maybe I should have burned the draft.

Deep breath, egomaniac. Your writing isn’t so powerful it can evoke that kind of emotion.

Off to read the work of others. I’m tired of me and my thoughts.

‘Night all.

Posted in On Writing | Leave a comment

The cult of me

When I did community theatre I used to make fun of actors. Unstable, I used to say. Insecure, I’d say even louder. Always worried about how they looked, whether they were “on”, whether they had enough lines. Typical navel-gazing bullshit.

All the same crap I do now as a writer.

Ha, ha.

Today my writing lacks. Tomorrow I’ll probably rock. Some days the up and down is exhausting. Will I ever make money at this? Am I any good?

It’s sad. I’m no different from that which I mock. Sigh. So much for my elitist attitude.

Posted in On Writing | Leave a comment