WRITING: (As if there’s anything else in life)

Except reading, of course, and I think it’s time to put Tropic of Cancer back on the shelf; I’ve made little progress towards learning to like it and it has inhibited my starting something else.

But writing it’s been, to the near exclusion of everything else.  And it’s rewriting at that–finetuning the Hypercompendia A Bottle of Beer so that every single word, if called upon, can justify its being. The weight has fallen upon me as author, of course, though I manage to weasel some free advice from one of
the best though Lord knows I’d hate to have to pay for this abuse of my literary ego.  The piece has been workshopped in our Creative Writing class so that helped a bit and among friends and strangers (or friends who soon become strangers for this very reason) only two out of seven would read it as asked.  I haven’t heard from the rest since and they’ve likely changed their email addresses as well.

So that’s what I have been up to, and will continue on that path until I make a left at the corner.