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I Am Alive (and Amplified)
I've just finished typing in the first draft of a story I've been working on steadily for months. It's 12,000 words long, and I'm thinking about calling it "Escape to Bird Island" (never underestimate the inspirational power of a road trip). Hopefully I can knock out 2-3k of thinking-on-paper without putting back the same amount of making-it-make-sense.
It occurs to me that the reason writers all wish they were rock stars is that rock stars can get pretty much instant feedback. No one in my favorite cafe stood up and applauded when I finished typing. WHAT THE HELL PEOPLE.
I gotta say, while it's less terrifying to have a road map--or at least a destination--for a story before I ever start it, it's damned satisfying to just stumble into the jungle that is my brain and see what's there. Having to ask myself at every turn, "Wait, what's this story about?", and having to change my answer every time, is maddening and confusing and rewarding and a helluva lot of fun. Hopefully the end product doesn't suck.
Tonight: Twins home opener. Despite the blizzard outside right now, baseball reassures me that it is spring.
It occurs to me that the reason writers all wish they were rock stars is that rock stars can get pretty much instant feedback. No one in my favorite cafe stood up and applauded when I finished typing. WHAT THE HELL PEOPLE.
I gotta say, while it's less terrifying to have a road map--or at least a destination--for a story before I ever start it, it's damned satisfying to just stumble into the jungle that is my brain and see what's there. Having to ask myself at every turn, "Wait, what's this story about?", and having to change my answer every time, is maddening and confusing and rewarding and a helluva lot of fun. Hopefully the end product doesn't suck.
Tonight: Twins home opener. Despite the blizzard outside right now, baseball reassures me that it is spring.
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