I just need to make it through this day and I am on vacation.
I am in the dreaded part of the draft-in-progress, the part that always works my last nerve and reminds me why writers drink: the second act.
One of the lovely things about being a writer is you never, truly believe you are one; and even if you–I am, of course, only speaking for myself rather than anyone else–do get something published, or have several books in print, etc., you always fear it’s going to go away. Your publisher might drop you, the well might run dry, people might stop reading your work…it’s a non-stop cycle of self-doubt, self-recrimination, and self-loathing.
The perfect career for me to pursue, right?
I think I am going to borrow an Audiobook from the library for my drive to Kentucky. I’m a little worried that listening to a book will be problematic for me; that I might get so lost in the story that I won’t pay attention to driving. This is always an issue for me; when I drive long distances listening to music my mind starts wandering to books/stories I am either writing or have already written or are some state of progress. (I’m actually hoping to have some serious thoughts on Bury Me in Satin–which I dreamed up on one of my many drives to Kentucky over the last nineteen years.) I’ll start thinking up ideas for stories as I drive past the Alabama state line and the next thing I know I’m almost to Chattanooga–which scares me more than a little bit.
And it should.
So, this weekend is going to be spent cleaning and organizing, trying to get some things written, and preparing for my five day absence from home. Wish me luck, Constant Reader. I am also only taking my iPad with me, rather than the MacBook Air (which I thoroughly loathe) and will be trying to use it as a computer for the first time. We’ll see. I am hoping I can train myself to write on it.
And now, back to the spice mines.