Looks like the silent type: the story plays coy

I haven’t done a lick of writing since my return from Emeryville. I don’t believe that it is related to the events of that week. From what I can figure, it’s just not been there. By ‘it’ I mean drive, focus, determination. Before the trip I was a machine. I wrote for hours, often nodding off, and rousing to find that I’d continued to type. During these brief somnambulist dictations, I would continue to write the passage or scene on which I had been working. Some of it was cool, as if I’d just extended a blink. Other times I’d find crazy sentences, creepy stuff. I didn’t keep that stuff, too weird.

Crazy, weird stuff aside, the point being, I was jammin’ towards my October 1 deadline. I was hitting my mark nightly. It was terriffic. Then I went out of town and my forward progress came to a screeching halt. I actually watched television tonight for the first time in, what, six weeks. Crappy, summertime television. It was awful.

This is, I know, part of the process of writing the book. The ebbs and flows. I like the flows much better. So here’s to Labor Day weekend; let the story shine on.

On a side note, I’m working on an old Dell C400, with 256k RAM. So on nights like tonight, with my Blink security software running along side Firefox, the poor old notebook – it’s like typing in molasses.

38 days remaining (888:50:41)


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