The past ten months have included getting a job, graduating from college, moving to a new city, going to a live concert for a band I’ve wanted to see since high school, and developing the ability to write like a madwoman.
It’s been fun. And busy. Which meant that for these past ten-ish months, writing that wasn’t generating a paycheck got shelved.
As a result, I was hard-pressed to find reading time. When I did find time, it was often a chore in that the act of reading itself was all I could take. I didn’t have the energy to think beyond whether I’d enjoyed the book, much less talk about the reasons behind that with anything resembling coherence. I reread and poked around with newer stuff, but somehow the spark to talk about things never really stuck.
This isn’t even touching what a disaster my fiction writing schedule became as it slowly suffocated.
But like Desdemona in Othello, it wasn’t quite dead. Unlike Desdemona, I didn’t want to have to place the blame for its demise on myself.
The fiction writing came back more easily than the reading did, oddly enough. My day job is writing, a blessing that I’m truly delighted to have, but it’s writing in a style that is relentlessly factual. After a while, I realized I was losing my ability to put words together in a way that described and depicted, because I spent so much time using them to tell. For some reason, the first emotion this roused was irritation at myself for letting it get to that point. Apparently that’s a powerful motivator, as I ended up writing 53k-odd words for NaNoWriMo, figured out from there what was needed to make the plot work logistically, and sat down to do more thorough outlining.
Reading came when I realized I was compulsively buying $2 and $3 books on Kindle while the backlog of things I hadn’t read stretched back years. So starting in January, I started plowing through that backlog, got through roughly a dozen books, found a couple that were surprisingly enjoyable, and had one annoy me so much that I realized I wanted to complain about it somewhere, somehow. I found a different venting outlet than this blog, but it sparked the realization that I wanted to talk about books and storytelling again.
So that’s what I’m going to try to do. If there’s anyone reading, I hope you’ll join me for the ride.
Fictionwise: Aside from novel outlining, a short story that’s really rough quality and too much fun not to finish. It involves a city where powerful entities can make bargains with deities of different types for earthly advancement and focuses on a person who makes a living from finding out the details of those contracts for various interested parties. Whether it will go anywhere remains to be seen. Status- 3,048 words.
Music: Currently, the soundtrack for The Grand Budapest Hotel.