Been light on the posting lately, but not on the reading and writing. So it’s been a spot of mystery, a dabble of Plato, and local talent in putting together our lit journal otto. Deadlines mean much to the procrastinator of determined heart and stubborn mind. Response and fulfillment means late nights, early mornings and the days in between obsessed with the goal.
Been reading some terrific poetry and story, and in this new issue, doing a special page run for a talented young artist discovered right on our own turf.
As for writing, there’s nothing like the growling of the time monster over my shoulder to get me moving on a project I’d conceived almost a year ago. Thankfully the creative mood came a-tripping back into life kicking lawyers and doctors and meanness and povertess times aside for a few days of productive output. Even the technical was inspired and creative, though I’m not as pleased as if I had a few more weeks to work the story kinks out. Rewriting ten times in two days is not the same as it being spread out in time. We change every day, every moment with the experience of living. With the passage of time, output eventually includes more input. I needed just a bit more input, or rather, my characters needed to live a bit longer before their stories were told.
But while it’s not my best work, in believing the theory above, whatever I write never will be. It’s what I’ll write next that is better. And the tale after that, much more.
So it’s off to the presses tomorrow. And back to the blogs and the reality of everyday life.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology