Yesterday, I wrote 1,051 words on "The Cats of River Street (1925)," and came up with what I hope is a good opening scene. It reads well. I read it aloud the Spooky. The problem, of course, is finding the story it leads to, and then finding my way to THE END.
How can it be the 20th of July? How can the summer be slipping away this quickly? I feel as if I've had one good summer day so far, and that was the Neko Case show in Lowell, Mass., back on June 28th.
Here I am at fifty. And I look back at how I've spent the past seven years, the better part of my forties, and I feel ill. I can live with how much of my life has been spent at this desk (and the desk before it) writing novels, short stories, vignettes, and comics. When push comes to shove, I can even justify – if only just barely – the thousands (not an exaggeration) of hours I've spent on blogging since November 2001. But since I discovered Second Life in late May 2007, I've spent many hundreds of hours "living" fictional lives in virtual worlds, first in SL and then in a series of MMORPGs (World of Warcraft, Rift, City of Heroes and Villains, Star Wars: The Old Republic, The Secret World, Guild Wars 2, et cetera). I despise myself for having done this, for having hidden from the world because the world is so much harder for me to face than all those silly pixel lies while my life passed me by.
Yeah, it's that sort of day.