Friday, July 18, 2014

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

The Only Cure for the Mean Reds

So it has been a while...
I'd like to say that I've been madly revising my manuscript, or working on something new, or even just being a good literary citizen and helping other writers...but no. I have not.

I had a party this past weekend and it was loads of fun. Two separate circles of friends met and interacted for the first time, and all was good. But it was exhausting. I'm an introvert by nature, so although I love people, they exhaust me. I came out of the weekend feeling deflated, like a party balloon someone let all the air out of. And then I encountered one of my many mood swings, and came down with what Holly Golightly dubbed the mean reds.
 "Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of."

And that's how I felt all of Sunday...and Monday...and Tuesday...and then some time around 8:30 last night I plopped myself down on the couch and started reading The Dog Year.
Full disclosure: I know the author. She is a kind and funny lady, and a very talented writer. Her humor is what drew me to the book. I thought to myself, She's funny, her book will cheer me up. And despite the fact that it's about a woman who loses her husband and unborn child in a single accident, and then in the wreckage of her life, attempts to fill the void by stealing things she doesn't need, it has done just that. I am loving every moment of it. The humor and candidness with which Garvin explores her protagonist's world is just perfect.
I plan on doing a more in-depth review of it and posting it here in a week. I still have a few more chapters to go, and the only thing keeping me from plowing though it in one go is the five month old currently kicking me in the shins.
When Holly Golightly comes down with a case of the mean reds, she finds herself at Tiffany's, eating her breakfast, sipping her coffee, and imagining a world in which all things are new and shiny and carelessly elegant. When I come down with the mean reds, I find a book. I imagine a world, not unlike our own, but filled with different people, different problems. I tell myself a story, or I find someone else to. A world with books can't be all that bad.

Monday, June 23, 2014

Endless Edits

I need to finish my book.
I mean, there is a finished draft of my book. It was good enough to earn a passing grade for my MFA. But I need to really finish my book. 

I keep staring at the blinking cursor, like I'm the movie-version of a writer with writer's block. Now that I have a completed draft, that isn't it too bad of shape, the task of fully editing, doing rewrites, and nailing down that second half so it's as good as the first half, is all that much more daunting.

I crave for the beginning of projects. My mind starts buzzing, and all I can think about is digging my heels in and getting started. In the beginning, everything is fresh, and new, and exciting. Now, I'm tired. I'm weary. I'm ready to finish this damn thing.

I'm setting myself a deadline. August 1st, I'll have the next completed draft of this thing ready for beta readers. After that, another draft, another round of readers. January 1st, I'll be querying agents with a completed manuscript.

In the immortal words of a friend and fellow writer, I've got this.