January 19th, 2010

Mask

Failure Pile In A Joyful Bowl

At the beginning of the month, I set out to write a short bit of fiction every day.

I've utterly failed in this. Here's how it went:

Day one, I wrote a story. Day two, I wrote a story and a little bit of another story. Day three, I wrote a story and went back to that second story on day two and added a little more. Day four, and I wrote about four pages of the second story from day two.

Now, on Day 19, I am 23 pages into what's starting to look like a novel. I can't stop writing this thing. When I have a minute, I sit down, pick up the laptop, and type. Bam. Bam. Bam. Scene. Character Development. Action. Drama. Scene.

I had three glasses of wine last night and all I wanted to do while I was tipsy was write. That's it. I wrote and wrote.

I have been trying to work at work today, but all I can think of is this scene I'm writing right now: there is this truck, and a mall, and these guys - damn it - it's even getting into my blog post.

So, I set out to do one thing, but now I'm doing something that's even more fulfilling. I feel like I'm stretching, opening, all this space for characters to breathe in, pages and pages. It's glorious.