Preemptive Retaliation

It’s another night where I start writing this far too late because I’ve been dicking around on other things instead. I procrastinated on doing this by consuming media, and now I’m procrastinating on sleep by doing this. There’s a middle-man to cut out somewhere, but I’ve had too many drinks to really work that one out.

I mentioned in my last entry that I’m trying to write again, or at least trying to not not-write. My first instinct was to jump into this new/old novel idea and get working at it, to hammer out scenes and characters, but that didn’t work out. I’ve said this analogy out loud so many times that I can’t remember if I’ve written on it here – but jumping back into a novel is like running a marathon after six months of being on the couch. I remember how to write, mostly. I remember the finger movements, the thought process, the process of self-editing, but putting all that into practice after so long is a false start. My legs are stiff, my body is misshapen. My mind is slow. I need to get back into the swing of things. I mean, don’t get me wrong, my fingers are primed to block and dodge-roll at a moments notice, but they’re stiff on forming a coherent thought.

I’ve dipped back into Writing Practice. Mike doesn’t read it much anymore, and he doesn’t prompt me as much either, but it’s a place to pour out my work without being self-conscious. A story about two detectives, a horror story about ducks, small things to stretch my fingers with. Running a mile or two, gasping every few minutes, but feeling the burn in my lungs lessen.

In the mean time I should probably do something with the novel I’ve left stagnating. I told a lie before, it wasn’t quite sitting in a drawer, it was sitting with a potential representative. Two weeks ago they sent me the usual thank you but not for us, and I can’t lie and say I took it spectacularly. I wasn’t holding out hope but… I don’t know. It was like I was holding onto a lottery ticket and disappointed in its inevitable outcome. Still, I can’t just let it sit and do nothing, not without giving it a fair shake. I like The Making Of. I like it a lot. With Things Keep Happening I always have to give the caveat that it’s my first novel and that’s why it’s the way it is, but I don’t feel as though I have to make excuses with The Making Of. I like it a lot, and would love for others to read it.