I need to put some writing time in this weekend to meet two July 1 deadlines. Neither is expecting (or requesting) my work, so it’s really just a matter of wanting to sell a couple of pieces. I will admit that I work best under pressure-- I don’t know that my writing is any better, but I do get the work done when there is a deadline hanging over my head. Of course, it’s also nice to open my files and have something already written and near-ready to be submitted, which is the case of two other markets I intend to submit my work to next week.
I have been pondering my novel writing, or lack thereof. I intend to get back on track soon ("soon" being relative, of course) and use the short fiction and nonfiction to supplement-- rather than be the sole focus of-- my writing pursuits. I currently have three directions to go with the novel writing-- finish and edit the mystery that has languished on my desk for nearly two years; continue on the work-in-progress (which currently has only one chapter written, but I have at least a third of it drafted); draft the YA idea that’s been in my head for the past week or so and see where that takes me.
While the mystery has the best short-term prospects, it hasn’t held my interest the last couple of times I’ve sat down with it. I like the characters and the overall concept, but I have plot holes big enough to drive trucks through that need to be fixed. Frankly, I despise major editing. I love first draft writing and I don’t mind clean-up editing, but when the first draft is inherently flawed, I have problems motivating myself to go back and fix it. I’d simply rather move on. And yet, I think I’ll be disappointed in myself if I don’t at least attempt to market this book.
Ah, decisions. I should just stick with short fiction, it’s easier.
Is it me or does it seem impossible that Christmas is only six short months away? Better start shopping.
Speaking of time flying, my high school reunion is next year-- my twenty year reunion. I’m not sure how that happened, but it seems impossible that people born the year I graduated from high school are high school graduates themselves. I remember when I thought anyone born in the 70s was a baby. Now 80s babies are having babies themselves.
Me? I’ve somehow crept into my late thirties while still bopping to Prince. I guess there are worse ways to grow old.
Have I mentioned I have insomnia? I can totally understand why sleep deprivation works as a means of torture. Then again, would sleep deprivation be an effective means of torture on someone who is already an insomniac?
I’m on a Prince kick lately. I’ve had a thing for Prince since I was 13, so it’s been twenty-four years of unrequited purple lust. I just picked up Musicology and it reminds me of his old stuff. Yummy.
Because I don’t have anything else I want to write about, here are some of my favorite Prince songs and lyrics, and the memories they bring:
This insomnia is kicking my ass. I just spent the last five minutes trying to log in to post on my weblog and couldn’t figure out why my username and password weren’t working. Then it dawned on me, I wasn’t on the Movable Type log-in page, I was on my work e-mail log-in page.
Maybe I shouldn’t drive today, huh?
What’s it all about?
Life. Love. Writing. Editing. Sex. Books. Romance. Movies. Friendship. Photography. Teaching. Coffee. (Lots of coffee.) Travel. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Memories. Experiences. Rants. Raves. Reviews. Babies. Pregnancy. Motherhood. Insanity. Musings of an insomniac writer. Want to know more?
