Not the Mood of the story setting, but the mood of the writer in writing the story. That’s why it’s not capitalized in the title; I’m ashamed to say that I’m dependent upon it to write. It seems so whiney and full of excuses and reminds me of my mother’s words, "a lousy ballerina will say her skirt’s too long." This is the translation from Polish, and I suspect that I myself put in the "lousy" but the meaning is clear. Excuses. Blame. Failure to thrive, strive, survive.
Now I’m pinning my deadline stickers on July 27th, the last day of the summer semester. With luck, I’ll even push it up closer to the 24th, the first day the final exam is available online. (Right now, I’m cramming for an exam due by tomorrow night.) Then I’ll have to hustle my butt with reading, writing, and putting together otto for September publication, while trying to submit some new or reworked stories around.
And too, I’m antsy to return to formal study, perhaps a Lit course somewhere to help interpret my revived interest in learning to read, not trusting myself to maintain a regimented program on my own although posting on Spinning and your feedback on literature and writing posts will help keep me on course.
In other words, I must make a plan to fill my time with productive literary study and effort after the tomatoes, peppers, onions and cilantro have been chopped into salsa.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
One of my best personal discoveries is the fact that the mood of the writer does not necessarily convey itself into what’s scribbled. All in the translation.
Good Lord, I hope it doesn’t!