Chaos

A real stew of drafting efforts, none of which make the cut. You’d think hundreds of pages of notes, dozens of plot iterations, and a kind-of-sort-of mental picture of “what happened”  . . . you’d think all these would make drafting easy. Indeed that was my notion.

But it’s pandemonium. On the plus side, I’m enjoying working so intensely on words rather than data.

Dispatches from the Land of Steady: September 25

Quick, name a cool antonym of the word steady (or steadfast or regular or, you know, working). Slack . . . bludger . . . lazy . . . shiftless . . . all these beckon but they’re laced with self-loathing and that’s not I wish to convey. “Busman’s holiday” is closer to the mark, but I’m not quite writing as a break from writing. No, for a few recent days (for portions of the day) and for today (all day), I’m reading. Reading hard, ploughing through book stacks. Memoirs, thrillers, how-tos, popular histories, sci-fi, detective mysteries, novels galore, tech histories, writer’s-craft offerings, award winners, fantasies . . . there doesn’t seem to be a genre that hasn’t ended up on my iPad. Is this a refresh, the oiling of creaking limbs? Hopefully. Tomorrow the vacation ceases.