©2022 Michael Raven
Well, this is decidedly not the day to go digging around in the rubbish bin trying to make a short story into something worthy of submission to anyone.
I has a short bit of time between Things That Must Be Done and pulled up the Google Doc, made a few edits and silently sobbed into my arthritic hands. All the edits I tried to make seemed, well, awful choices once they were written in green to indicate that they were changes to the document. It all seemed just utterly, horrifyingly and terribly off.
So I did what all persons attempting to be serious writers do at times like that. I rolled up my sleeves and gave up for the day.
I’ll go back to serious editing mode when my mood is a little less self-abasing and is, instead, filled with unreasonable grandeur about how I can overcome all obstacles and become the writer I was meant to be. Right now, I feel quite like a toddler who has forgotten how to say “Da-da” when it comes to prose. I just feel inadequate for reasons I can’t articulate right now, which is the opposite of what I probably should feel, seeing as I’ve had better reactions to my scrivenings than I expected elsewhere as I try to develop “my brand” in advance of the release of galdr: thought + memory. Are the reactions through the roof? Not even up to my knees, but the reactions are still positive developments (especially with respect to about three people whose attention I was hoping to get of have taken notice of me more than the standard “Hmm? Oh? Him? I think I’ve seen him… someplace… maybe…”).
I should be writing, I really should. But, the thing is, I can’t decide what to write about and I’m still suffering from a lack of sleep attributable to the cold weather we are having, which triggers my arthritis something fierce and prompted me to decide to buy a new pair of the only compression gloves that seem to be both comfortable and well-fitting, the IMEK brand. For the past few days, I’ve been wearing my old pair almost constantly and it was time to get a new pair that weren’t so stretched out. I’ve tried other brands and always been disappointed. After I put them on, the pain diminishes and I can go back to writing once I feel up to writing about.
I’ve strong inclinations towards new weird and modern gothic (not to be confused with romantic urban fantasy), but my drained brain is feeling uncooperative. So, in the meantime, I’ve been playing around with some romantic poetry which rarely looks as good after I am done than I dare to hope it might look while writing it, and some snarky humor-horror. And when those are not in the offing, I often fantasize about writing some kind of Salinger- or Kafka-flavored bit of fiction, but then intimidate myself into not writing in that style.
A loud voice in my head says it is because I am lagging on my donut consumption and that I should wake up super early and get a box of pastries and then secretly eat them all in the car without bringing any of them home. I think donuts might help… Really.