Many great comments on the past few posts, so go ahead and read those.
Here, nothing much, except that I am trying to dig myself from underneath a pile of work. This is a bit harder than usual because I am supremely unmotivated, even though I’ve had far busier semesters in the past. Work feels…like work.
The story acceptances keep coming in and I keep writing… And I see slivers of ambition emerging. I should really nip them in the bud because I do not need more opportunities to feel crappy; I’ve got a perfectly good, well-paying job that provides all the opportunities for rejection that a sucker for punishment might ever need. But I read and I read and I read, and I write and I write and I write, and certain lofty goals no longer seem quite so unattainable. That’s a dangerous place to be, because this is a freakin’ hobby and I need to keep my feet on the ground. No worries, I am not inflicting a novel on anyone, ever. But better, longer stories, in really good markets…
It’s interesting what you discover about yourself when you get into writing fiction. I am a scaredy cat and cannot watch horror at all, but I am really drawn to written dark fantasy and all manner of surreal and bizarre elements in literary writing. And I finally found the name for the writing style that I hate hate HATE: purple prose.
To wrap up, here is some random (very pop) music I shazammed in the car recently: