I have to reset the game camera. They're nocturnal and do have a range near here ... near being a couple hundred miles. However, I have their habitat so we'll see.
The fire is going nicely. The foxhound is on the ottoman. I have a sheaf of notes on the "next" re-write of another story and am going to write the last scene of the current story when I finish this post.
I like working on the short stories lately. I like the discipline of outlining fifteen scenes and reducing them to four. I like trying to define what the story's core might be and how to just write that piece. I haven't written with that discipline for a decade now. Wow. Feels odd to say that.
I haven't crafted a story for consumption by exercising any real discipline for a decade.
I'd say I've wasted those years but the truth is I was summoning the courage to finish what I started.
If I didn't submit again, if I didn't query, if I didn't finish a story or a novel then I didn't have anything to go out. I didn't have to confront the fact I wasn't taking the craft seriously. I could just write unfinished bits and say it was just a hold-over. It wasn't anything for which a yardstick of success was involved.
I'm still not sure why that changed.
The reason it changed is because a couple people who mattered to me put in a great deal of effort to cast the "writer" perspective in my meager brain. I don't want to disappoint them.
I'm not sure why the perspective changed.
I've never carried any reluctance to abandon something at the 99% completion point. I've never cared before about disappointing people. I've done both - abandoning efforts and disappointing people - with regularity.
There are a lot of things that don't make sense. Sitting alone here now in front of the fire and writing in order to communicate with a broad audience makes little sense, too. You'd think I'd just talk to people.
"The monologue was his preferred means of discourse."
I think I'll write now. You should as well.
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