Doesn't take much to distract me, lately. Or knock me out of my routine. I've been trying to blog every day. I also write in a journal and try to keep up on the info sent my way by various people. But this last couple weeks I've spun out of control. Too many distractions, too much to do and no time to do it.
Right now, I'm in New Haven after driving up here from Columbia, SC. Straight up the 95...well, until I hit the Garden State Parkway and remembered the hell I'd had going from the George Washington Bridge to Bridgeport, last week, so shifted direction and, once I got past the 280 leading to the Oranges, it was straight shot. The highlight of the trip? Watching the Town & Country minivan I'm driving hit 28 mpg while using the a/c.
Do I lead an exciting life, or what?
OT barely entered my consciousness during this second leg of the trip. Instead, Carly Kills began knocking at my proverbial door. Carly and Zeke have worked out their dynamic and stories, and they're ready to be heard. At the same time, it's getting close to the National Novel Writing Month writing challenge, and I want to shift The Alice '65 into book form. It got dissed by yet another competition -- that's eight, so far, out of eleven responses (it won at Indie Gathering and got to quarterfinalist in a couple) -- so maybe it's better to just work on novels.
Except, CK is not interested in being novelized. Shit. She wants the visual.
What's even worse is...the beginning of Darian's Point has begun to rumble. I can actually see the whole first act and a vicious portion of the last act. This story also needs to be told.
Do other writers go through this? Having so many stories pounding at the doorway of their consciousness? How do they handle it? Maybe I can't. Maybe I'm losing my mind and my characters know and they're clamoring to be heard before said brain goes buh-bye. Maybe I'll wind up living these stories in my head once I collapse into dementia.
God help anyone who has to take care of me; I barely make sense when I'm vaguely sane.
Right now, I'm in New Haven after driving up here from Columbia, SC. Straight up the 95...well, until I hit the Garden State Parkway and remembered the hell I'd had going from the George Washington Bridge to Bridgeport, last week, so shifted direction and, once I got past the 280 leading to the Oranges, it was straight shot. The highlight of the trip? Watching the Town & Country minivan I'm driving hit 28 mpg while using the a/c.
Do I lead an exciting life, or what?
OT barely entered my consciousness during this second leg of the trip. Instead, Carly Kills began knocking at my proverbial door. Carly and Zeke have worked out their dynamic and stories, and they're ready to be heard. At the same time, it's getting close to the National Novel Writing Month writing challenge, and I want to shift The Alice '65 into book form. It got dissed by yet another competition -- that's eight, so far, out of eleven responses (it won at Indie Gathering and got to quarterfinalist in a couple) -- so maybe it's better to just work on novels.
Except, CK is not interested in being novelized. Shit. She wants the visual.
What's even worse is...the beginning of Darian's Point has begun to rumble. I can actually see the whole first act and a vicious portion of the last act. This story also needs to be told.
Do other writers go through this? Having so many stories pounding at the doorway of their consciousness? How do they handle it? Maybe I can't. Maybe I'm losing my mind and my characters know and they're clamoring to be heard before said brain goes buh-bye. Maybe I'll wind up living these stories in my head once I collapse into dementia.
God help anyone who has to take care of me; I barely make sense when I'm vaguely sane.
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