Monday, March 22, 2004
It's chilly this morning, and cloudy. I think it's about 40F outside, but the meteorologists are promising the temps will be back up in the 70s by Wednesday. I think I can hang on that long.
Yesterday was the sort of day off that I wish I'd spent working. Mostly, the problem was the dip in temperatures, which led to a dip in my mood. Of course, Spooky, who was born in Missouri and has spent most of her life in Rhode Island, thinks I'm a big pussy as regards cold weather. I'm sure she's right. Anyway, we did nothing much. It was too nippy for the park, so the kite thing didn't happen (the wind was really a little too strong, anyway). And everywhere I looked there were people and seeing them just made me want to be home again (I had not thought death had undone so many./Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,/And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.), except I didn't want to be home, because I'd just spent ten days without leaving the apartment. And so it goes. The good news is no hate mail yet in retaliation for my very positive comments on the remake of Dawn of the Dead.
Today, I have to begin a new short story. Or at least I need to begin a new short story. As Anne Sexton reminds us, "Need is not quite belief." It's not quite motivation, either. But the deadlines do loom huge in the middle distance. And I have promises to keep. Fa la la la la. It's probably also coming up on time to start thinking about that dread beast, The Next Novel.
On that note, my thanks to Marci K. for sending me a link to "The Confessions of a Semi-Successful Author," an article at Salon.com (I don't read Salon.com, so I wouldn't have seen it otherwise). If you're someone who's clinging to even the tiniest shred of delusion that there's anything joyous or romantic about the lives of most published authors today, I prescribe this very insightful ditty. With luck, it will disabuse you of any such foolish notions and set you back on the straight and narrow, before you end up like me, another misplaced soul on the bramblesome, devouring road to and from the charnal houses of Publishing. Be warned, though, that, unless you're a subscriber, if you want to read the whole article, you must first view an inane commercial to receive your one-day pass to the website (a process that goes some way towards illustrating the problems discussed in the article).
Regardless, it's time to begin another story.
And start thinking about The Next Novel.
At least it's better than thinking about The Next Presidential Election, or The Next Jump In Gasoline Prices, or The Next Phase In The War On Terrorism, or The Next Forward Tick Of The Doomsday Clock. At least, I think it is...
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