Friday, August 27, 2010

...My computer issues are all resolved. Slogging through this experience reminded me again that something good almost always comes out of something bad. In this case, even though it was a pain getting the data transfer accomplished, my computer is now at least three times faster than it ever was. Same thing happened when I totaled my car a few years back; the new model was so much sleeker and lighter, equipped with far superior gadgetry. (My problem is I just need to worry less when I'm going through adversity.)

...Holy, Hell, but there sure are a lot of writers out there. I think that bodes well for the state of reading. Or maybe not. Maybe writers just want to write and have themselves believe that someone somewhere is reading their words. Whenever I read something strong I try to send the author a note complimenting them. Fifty percent of the time, they'll never respond back. The other half are elated, even if I've only written two short sentences. I think the writing community should have each other's backs better.

...I got a story accepted at Matchbook Lit. The editor wanted me to change the title and tweak a few things. I like when editors are involved. It's pretty rare and usually only happens with very strong publications. But I understand how busy everyone is reading subs.

...I really loved that Annie Dillard book, "The Writing Life" and will be sharing excerpts with you for awhile. Here's one that articulates the blatant loneliness of writing, the second-guessing a writer goes through, and the rut I've been in with my novel:
"Putting a book together is interesting and exhilarating. It is sufficiently difficult and complex in that it engages all of your intelligence. It is life at its most free.
The obverse of this freedom, of course, is that your work is meaningless, so fully for yourself alone, and so worthless to the world, that no one except you cares whether you do it well, or ever. You are freee to make several thousand close judgment calls a day. Your freedom is a by-product of your days' triviality. A shoe salesman--who is doing others' tasks, who must answer to two or three bosses, who must do his job their way, and must put himself in their hands, at their place, during their hours--is nevertheless working usefully. Further, if the shoe salesman fails to appear one morning, someone will notice and miss him. Your manuscript, on which you lavish such care, has no needs or wishes; it knows you not. Nor does anyone need your manuscript; every needs shoes more."

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