snowblindYesterday, I began the epilogue for The Red Tree, and discovered that it actually doesn't need an epilogue after all. As I said before, I knew this was a possibility. And yesterday, I realized that, most likely, I'm just not a good enough writer to make the epilogue I wanted to do work. I would force it, and I would do so at the risk of breaking the rest of the book, which does work. So, this afternoon I'm writing my editor to tell her, nope, no epilogue. This means I can now move along to Sirenia Digest #38. And then I'll spend the first two weeks of February editing The Red Tree for the "final" draft of the manuscript.
I seem almost incapable of focusing, the last month or six weeks. I have no idea what's going on.
Today is the 200th birthday of Edgar Allan Poe.
I want to write "snow stories" for the next Sirenia Digest, but, off the top of my head, no snow stories come to mind. Maybe I'll toss in Algernon Blackwood's "The Wendigo." Maybe I can find an erotic take on the wendigo myth for a piece of my own. And maybe not. 99 out of every 100 ideas I have go unwritten.
And, in a way, it's just as much what a writer doesn't say, as what she does.
