I’m still revising this weeks short story. Oh wait, for those who missed it I added two new podcasts to Literary Roadhouse and one was possibly the most idiotic thing I’ve ever done. Somehow I decided writing a short story every week for 2016 would be a good thing. On top of freelancing, planning to build LRH into a business and… revising my NiP (Novel in Progress) at least two passes to the deep story level. It’d be nice to do my other book as well, but who are we kidding.
Here I am still with two novels and 7 short stories after three years and they all need work. Meanwhile, I’m surrounded by folks who publish every couple months. I need a pill for comparisonitis. I’m starting to learn to accept that I will never be fast. It’s not that I can’t be, but I can’t write the kinds of stories I want to write at that speed. I say this as I revise this weeks story instead of working on the next. Sometimes, I won’t touch NiP for a week or two or a month or two while turning things over in my head. When I come back to it, I always understand something new and it’s always better for it. I’m still adding depth and layers, and haven’t touched the typos cause why bother if I end up re-writing 40k words. I won’t even talk about my failed “best” short story. 16 versions over 7 months and the last personal rejection will take yet another and every word from the editors were absolutely correct. I’m a bit sad that I don’t think slow writers can survive. Maybe, once my skills are strong and I’ve finished 50 11 books, I can get to one a year. But… I kinda enjoy pondering the minute details. So I have to either speed up, or embrace my snail pace. I like this post by Roz Morris a lot. It makes me realize that I’m not broken for being slow. It’s what made be decide to try embracing my lack of speed for 2016. Sure, I want to speed up my blog posts, but my story writing… nah.
I’ll settle with consistent. That’s what the Bradbury Challenge is about, consistency. I want to write better and deeper. I know that I can get closer. The story I’m currently writing is hard to get close too (hence blogging to get air from a dying woman in a room with an estranged daughter) but that’s how I know it’s worth something to me. My stories aren’t easy because I’m not easy and I’ve never owned rose filters. They are often dark yet hopeful. Full of identity, race, confusion, and pain with a Buddhist core and glimmers of hope on the horizon. It’s true what they say about leaving pieces of yourself in your work. I joke about banning water motifs from all my work. Water water everywhere and not a drop.