All right, I gave in and used one of the "blog" shells from Angelfire to make it look a bit more hip. I didn't even know a word like blog existed, because I am hopelessly geeky. Anyway, here's the last entry again in the new cool format.
Well, not to be outdone by all the other established and aspiring writers who feel the need to let anyone and everyone who cares in on the constant drama and excitement of being a writer, I've decided to keep a daily journal. Although I think the term 'daily' is a bit on the optimistic side, I'll do my best. I'm sure I'll be mostly talking to myself here, but at least I'll have the discipline of having to write at least something every day, even if it's complete BS. So here we go...
Sunday September 7-
I spent about three hours writing a scene in my new book that takes roughly 55 seconds to read. This feels very much like trying to drain Lake Michigan with a Waterford pitcher. Not only that, but I'm terrified to read it back in case it's a complete pile of steaming crap. Who am I kidding? I almost always think everything is crap the first time I read it back. And the really depressing thing is, sometimes I'm right. Okay, a lot of times I'm right. Because when you get in the 'zone', when you've finally managed to tune out the goddam barking dog next door, the Sox game blasting from the other room, the layer of dust covering everything on the desk, it's sort of like being on your fourth Cosmopolitan of the night--everything looks good. In the same way that the guy with the missing front tooth and skull earring looks 'edgy' instead of scary as hell, you think that naming someone Clark Sneedwell is sort of cutely Dickensian rather than just goofy. Then you sober up and realize that your character would never say the things you've got coming out of her mouth or do some idiot thing you have her doing, and it's back to the drawing board, or to continue the metaphor, it's back to the bar for another round. So, after managing to avoid writing for most of the weekend, tomorrow it's back to my soul-sucking job where I can spend the day feeling pained and angry because I can't be writing. Maybe we really are all crazy.