hiatus, one month in

[image error]With the blessing of the Shutter Sisters (on the morning of the release of our book) and friends at Glow in the Woods, I'm retreating to finish the book. I'm saying no to anything that doesn't involve piracy. Even to things I love to do, wish I could do. It's time.

I'm shooting for 30,000 words six days from today (standing at 24,483). That leaves... I don't know. 15,000 to finish it? Maybe. That depends. Penelope said November so I'm calling the 15th our median.

I've spent months with this story in my head. It's been pushed aside by client work, a conference, laundry, facebook, twitter, company, a hurricane, this blog, that blog, the other blog, The Bachelor Pad, grief, beer, pesky personal grooming, and my camera.

And so now, all that has to wait. I belong to Missy. I'm gonna be kind of pale and unwashed. My face is going to be fixed in what Justin calls the Ten Mile Stare. Because even when I'm not writing, I'll be writing. I'll be making mental notes on flight dynamics and rotor parts and prairie foxes and pow wows and the sabotage of natural gas pipelines.

I don't even know if I can do this, as evidenced elsewhere. Last time, it didn't feel this precarious or exposing. This time, it does. A deadline, with all its implicit green light, messes with your head. See? Messy head.

But I'm going to try.

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People get all lyrical about finding inspiration and finding your voice and finding muses and this book about writing and that book about writing and inspiration prompts and voice prompts and exercises to write about preparing to write. That's fine, if overwrought movie scores work on you. You know. The instrumental accompaniment that's designed to take your hand and lead you to an empty shell so that you might walk out of the theatre thinking you were moved.

But there's nothing lyrical about this. This is dragging and heaving and a sore neck to the hum of the fridge and the creaking of the house after everyone else has gone to bed. This is writing as repeated labour, with a long way to go. That's all. There is nothing romantic about this.

There doesn't need to be.