Feel free to peruse without comment the many paragraphs I'm posting. I'm home alone, pent-up words to the world remain from (almost) not blogging last month. And today I'm battling the yucky stuff that's making the rounds. Tim's had it a week or more, poor guy. Dealing with a windstorm's aftermath by day, coughing into the bleary hours of night.
Food, in smaller portions, I'm trying to enjoy. You know, take a taste, roll the goodness on your tongue, appreciate. No need to finish the whole bag/leftover/bunch! I hope I'm building a good habit for Christmas.
Every day I wish to sing out where I am in the writing. Getting up at 4:30 sends me into raptures by mid-morning. I've worked! I'm productive! I'm on page 143! Somebody needs to see this.
But I'm committed to a structure, for the best, I think. Clearer all the time, I see the pattern to shoot for.
Finish this book. Don't contact agents, editors, or the media before it's done. Finito.
After I write The End I can let it sit, as Stephen King suggests, and then read through it with different, stepped-back eyes. Then I can ask my dear friends to subject themselves to the complete version. Next I will take pieces of it to the writing group of my choice. Amid this time of receiving feedback, I can craft a wonderful, ripened proposal. Then it'll be ready to go.
So good to see the big picture, what I should do. But, yuck. How will I ever...? So far away.
Today I think I'll try, for sanity's sake, quoting myself. A tiny sample from my first chapter. A book, after all, I'm learning, is a marathon of small bites. Here you go.
Many years have passed now since we began unfolding reality together. Tim remains a technology man; I am his inner-gizmological woman.
Questions often dance and spar in my head. I doubt Tim; I doubt myself. But my universe, I’d like to think, is woven of different fabric than it was in the past. Not indestructible, just a tad more able to flex.
2 comments:
i like it. :)
I'm glad, Cecily. Thanks!
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