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