I’ve been rather delinquent since finishing the Not-a-Werewolf Book, which still doesn’t have a real title. I’ve had that horrible impotent feeling: I want to write, and I don’t want substitutes, but when I sit down to make words, they just don’t feel exciting.
This does not stop me from making words. I don’t do writer’s block. I do, however, crave like a drug the ultimate exultation of making words that are really good.
Hence my excitement today: finally getting somewhere excellent with “Railway Guns of the Northern Rockies”, which has been kicking around my brain for a few months. I am going to love this story.
Other stories in progress:
“Forty-Nine Days in the Intermediate States, with Extracts from the Great Liberation by Hearing”: needs attention, but it makes me sad to work on it. I think I’ll get back to it next month.
“Rush Lane”: Almost done, and shaping up nicely now that I know what the hell it’s actually about.
“Seven Postcards from the Garden of Earthly Delights”: About to be razed to the ground and rebuilt from scratch with the same floor plan yet a totally different architectural style.
“Sovereign Cure for Pneumonia”: Advances on this story have been made, but mainly in my mind, which does not count. I need to polish it properly, and soon.
Oracle of the Dashboard: on Chapter Three, which, now that I think of it, is not bad for a novel I only started writing in March.
And that, my friends, is a bit too long for a works-in-progress list. By contrast, my completed inventory consists of only two saleable stories. Which, yeah, I need to sell.
I met a MRI tech recently who says volunteers are always needed for imaging studies. I would truly love to see what my brain looks like when it’s fully at work. I’m convinced there’s something different going on, when the work is really sublime–something that would be objectively visible if you could just look with the right eyes.