Minor Discomfort

Failed title of the day: Minor Discomfort. (You know this story has to be about jailbait, a concept which, in the wrong hands, is doomed to to be bad... I, for one, shall not go there...)

Anyway... hello! Long time no write. That's because I've been busy finishing my latest book. You heard it here first. I finished the manuscript yesterday. (And by 'finished,' I mean I'm just now getting started... because hearty revisions are yet to come, I'm certain.)

I'm very excited because I've actually accomplished what I set out to do a mere month and half ago when I quit my day job.

I'm looking forward to next week's holiday, when I won't be distracted by having to run from my family and hide in my room, tap-tap-tapping away on this keyboard. I may still run from my family, but it won't have anything to do with writing.

(I'm kidding! You know I love you all... and I cannot wait to eat yummy food, listen to Christmas carols, and fall asleep underneath the sparkly tree at my mother and step-father's house in Massachussetts. Ah, just thinking about it now is making me giddy.)

Isn't it funny how I pretend people actually read this thing?

HARD

Hey there. Failed title of the day = HARD. Try to to write that story. You'll fail.

Probably.

That title actually isn't so bad... and I must admit, it's a last minute replacement for the failed title I'd been thinking of for the past few days. For some reason, this morning, my original idea flew out the brain and left the country. But HARD is good enough. It's a little racy, a little gritty, and waaaay dumb. I don't know what the story would be... but it sounds like a sexy cop novel. Or something.

So here I am a little farther from the raft. The writing is getting HARDer. Last week really tripped me up for some reason. Maybe it was the holiday and all the obligations which come along with that...

But I really think my biggest stumble came after I read an article in the New York Times about the publishing industry and how everyone is freaking out about future sales and acquisitions and how many folks are leaving their jobs or getting fired... And blah blah blah, economy woes, blah, blah, blah. Ugh. Some advice for struggling artists out there: nix the articles in bourgeois publications about how the market for your work sucks and you're doomed. DOOMED. Said articles are not helpful for 'creativity.' (Mmm, the balm of cynicism feels so good.) I've spent the past week with my mind a whirling, wondering if I've made a mistake, and cursing the banks for f-ing up the world just when I finally have the balls to try to make a change in my life...

I'm about to start on today's pages... My characters are finally learning the TRUTH about their situation. I'm about to set up their race to the finish line. (On your marks... BLAM!) Over the weekend, I plotted out the end of the book -- and realized (once again) that what I thought was going to be a tight, quick, economical little story has metastasized into a full-fledged epic. It's possible that my trip-up (and creative psych-out) was caused by realizing the book won't be complete within the next 50 pages, as I'd planned. I'm learning that I just need to let that go. I've got to become an organic farmer and tend my crop without the pesticide called Negativity (Blecch, sorry... that was awful. And so, there's another failed title for ya: A Pesticide Called Negativity. Try to write that story. You'll fail!)

Seriously, I'm thinking of taking my laptop and sitting underneath the dining room table (or in my closet, or on top of the washing machine) just to get a different perspective. I wonder if that might help...?

At the very least, this week, I'm staying away from the New York Times.

Cheers!