A rather spotty writing day yesterday. I only managed 757 words on "Galápagos." Actually, I managed a bit more than that, but tossed a good deal of it out. I have reached what is likely the climax of the story, which, for me, is where it began. That is, this is the scene that my imagination first spat up, a couple of weeks or so back. But all that other stuff had to come first, the portion of the story preceding and building to this revelation, and now I'm faltering. This sort of thing happens quite often. I see, clearly, some scene, and then I write towards it. Only, expectation accretes about the scene, all those images, and when it's finally time to write it, I'm so afraid of not living up to my imagination...I'm pretty sure I've said all this before.
Not much else to yesterday. The temperature Outside neared 80F, but it was cloudy, with rain showers here in Providence. Plans were made for the dreaded birthday -05, which is tomorrow. Sonya (
And here's another reminder about the new trade paperback edition of Alabaster, 'cause these books don't sell themselves. Maybe if I were a Mormon homophobe who used sparkly tales of necrophilia to peddle "the erotica of abstinence," they would.
And happy birthday to