in which I am decidedly not moping

Just a few more moments of the morning off left, and I am happy to say I not only slept in but wrote a bit, too, more of the short story from the male perspective that’s been giving me so much trouble.

I am charging my camera battery because Ergazork and I are about to head out for lunch in my ‘hood and then flower-appreciating in Golden Gate Park. It’s already 75 degrees, with a high of 80 expected today; I think it’s time for the summer skirt and the big floppy straw hat!

Something inside me is wriggling around again. I finally finished reading Penelope Williamson’s “Mortal Sins”, a book that had been left behind at the library, which was every inch as dreadful as I expected. It’s a thriller set in late ‘20s New Orleans, which should be compelling in some way, but instead I just could not get past how lame and stupid the characters were. Every last one was a caricature in some way; it was a parade of grotesques, if you will, but not half as interesting as that. I’ll find a good home for it somewhere. It’s even a signed edition!

Its opposite I’m almost finished with: Amy Krouse Rosenthal’s “Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life”. The author has a generous, casual tone to all of her experiences – or, I should say, entries – that I enjoy slipping into like blue jeans just out of the dryer. This is an excellent book for dinners alone or public transit commutes because the entries are generally short and sweet, so there’s no contiguous plot to worry about remembering.

Some days it feels like I’ll never have the idea, that one big idea, that launches a novel, even a bad one, and almost all my wayward pieces that get sent out end up straggling back with notes attached: “Good, but unfocused.” “Good, but not a good fit for what we do here.” “Good, but not good.” “Good, but shut up already.” “Good, but you’re never going to make it as a writer, so why don’t you just give up?”

Okay, so I’m taking some liberties with the content of the rejection letters, but you know, that’s what it feels as it comes to me, so I’m sharing it.

Time to push away the creative malaise and run around in some flowers. Spring is here!

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.