That’s how I felt at work this week, just a big, slow rumbling old truck trying to reach its destination. I am, however, wrong.
Mostly what provoked that feeling is that even squeezing out most of my other work in favor of Southern Discomforts, I still didn’t get as far as I wanted. My polishing is much more extensive than I expected — not so much because the story is more flawed, I just really want this draft looking as good as possible before I get it beta-read. And little changes keep having big effects. For example, I eliminated one key piece of evidence from the FBI investigation (I may bring it back) so instead of seeing Olwen McAlister as a suspect in her husband’s murder, the agents only know something seriously suspicious is going on, but can’t figure out how to put it together. That required a heavier rewrite of the interrogation than I’d planned. But still, in three weeks I’ve managed 40,000 words, so I’m doing better than expected. But I need to push because if I finish too late, my writing group volunteers (once I solicit them) won’t have time to read it before the holiday season, and I’ll probably have to push the actual critique (accompanied by a dinner party, that’s how the group usually does it) into 2017.
I did reread A Famine Where Abundance Lies and I think it’s ready to go (though I may read it to the group anyway, depending whether one or both of two other possible short stories is ready for beta-ing soon enough). However I’m wondering where exactly to send it. The story came out much more Christian in many ways than when I’d started, and while I’m fine with that, I’m not sure how that will go over in some of the places I was thinking about submitting it.
And I put in more work on Martinis, Girls and Guns. While I was becoming pessimistic, I think I may be able to get it out by year’s end as I’d originally planned.
Today, however, I took off, so that reduced the amount of work I could do for the week. We’re dog-sitting Trixie’s bestie Lily again, so I know from experience I’m unlikely to accomplish anything today. Rather than make a futile struggle, I just passed. You can see Lily below; she’s a full blooded Havanese, maybe three years old.
I’ve also started finally sleeping better. My insomnia is very seasonal: starts up in March, typically, runs through September. I don’t know if it’s to do with the sunlight or the heat, but the pattern’s been consistent for several years. As this also leaves me sleeping a little later in the morning, I may have to start setting an alarm. But I’ll trade an alarm for a good night’s sleep any time.