I’m still experiencing an overwhelming desire to write.  Alas, I’m still not doing it.  I edited a story (TWHDotGMP) and sent it back out to Lightspeed who won’t want it and will have it rejected by Monday at the latest.  They may be into quirky humor, but I’d be surprised.  Technically I’m always surprised when I make a sale.  It’s not the standard response to a submission.

I’ve just finished a read through of my YA novel, or as much as I’ve got.  I’ve dumped the last ten pages or so and I’m attacking it again.  It was a move I made about the time I stopped working on it.  Now that I know where I’m going, I’m convinced it was the right move.  I made editing notes as I read because I can’t help myself, but for now I’ll pick up where I chopped it.

I have to get this story rolling faster than I have.  The first couple conflicts hit bam-bam, then the story just kind of drifts on inertia.  I’ll likely have to go back and smack someone with a tire iron or something to break up the dullness of my milieu-building.  But not right now; now it’s time to move forward.

Today was the last day of the county fair where my wife was exhibiting, so my time should become more flexible meaning more potential writing time.  And I need to use that time for writing.  I’m thinking about cutting my television time down to just meals (yes, we heathens eat in front of the idiot box) and exercise time on the elliptical machine (which is currently time that does not exist).  That should have the double-edged effect of decreasing television time and increasing workout time.  But to do that, I really should get my wireless headphones fixed so I can hear over the woosh-woosh-woosh of the machine.  But I digress.

I slept late today, until about 10:30, and I feel much more alive for it.  Basically I’m whittling away excuses to avoid writing.  I never appreciated how many I had and used.  There’s always more: papers to grade, cleaning to be done, cats to shave, 80s movies to reenact…but it’s time to push them all aside and write.  Tomorrow.  🙂

[ADDED]: As of about 1:30, I’ve tightened up some loose threads in another story (TRM) and I’m sending somewhere before I get to bed.  Why can’t I let things go until morning?  At least they’re getting done this way.

I’ve been here before.  For whatever reason, when I feel like my writing career is starting to actually resemble a career more than a hobby, I try to rest on my laurels.  Dumb, pointless, counter-productivething to do.  I need to be writing.  Heck, why would feeling like a real witer make me want to stop writing?  Is it fear of success?  (Possibly.)  Is it laziness?  (Probably a little.)  But the drive to write seems strongest when I’m discouraged, not encouraged.

Not necessarily true.  I didn’t write much last summer — nothing brand new — because I was in a funk about missing out on Clarion West.  Childish thing to do (sensing a pattern here?), but that was me, sulking.  Nevertheless, I hit streaks of no production when I feel good about writing.

A little psychoanalysis suggests a couple possible explanations.  Writing is hard and often unpleasant, so this good feeling about writing doesn’t want to risk being tainted by the negative feelings that accompany writing a difficult passage.  Or Maybe I just fear that the next thing I write won’t be as good as the last thing I wrote.

I am allowing myself the afternoon off to finish my childish procrastination, but I resume writing tonight.  I write better at night anyway (stock excuse #23).  I’ve been sick and I deserve a little recreation time (stock excuse #31) and I only get so many chances a week to have some fun (stock excuse #3).  Excuses or not, I’m chilling for a few hours.  I’ll update tomorrow as to whether I made any progress.

And no, I’m not pulling the words-a-week I’m supposed to be aiming for, paltry as that sum was (3000 I think?).  I need to do better.