My editing skills have taken a turn for the worse. There was a time when I slashed phrases with the best of them, thought nothing of cutting the pretty fat from my babies. Now? Now I’m pregnant with words. Dude–I’m downright wordy.
At any rate, I’m fleshing out the latest short story (shorty) quite nicely, chubby or no chubby (that sounds like a bad porno title–Chubby or No Chubby?). Draft three can be about the slimming. Draft two is about plot cohesion and characters who make sense. Still–7200 freakin’ words?
Jeez–my edit marks outnumber my actual words. Draft one–you are a trainwreck.
Still, it feels good to finish the first pass. There’s good stuff in there, I just have to cut the wheat from the chaff. Cull the smaller fish. Drink the premium lager. Whatever.
Enough about me. Internets, how are you?
The first draft of my new short story Netherhouse Liquidation is complete. And yet, I am plagued by question–why do I always want to spell short story as shorty?
My brain resists all attempts to wring creative blogging from it, so instead I note my writing goals for 2009:
1. Finish the short story I’m working on, which features the same characters and setting as my new novel-in-progress.
2. Finish the new novel-in-progress (at least first draft).
3. Come up with at least one non-fiction piece to shop (as the last batch seems to have encountered fail).
4. Sell that dang Rose story, in some form, somewhere. I know there’s good buried in it, dang it!
5. Bang out one if not two of the other shorts cluttering my hard drive. Completion status ranges from three-quarters done to finished first draft, but I want polished and submit-able here, people. Maybe combine the two drafts into one? (Hmm…not a bad idea).
I’ve snapped a picture of the three books I’m actively reading. This neglects the forty or so books stacked at my nightstand (I’m not kidding).
Not sure what this selection says about me.