Even if it’s teeny electronic motes, the figurative dust has settled after importing all of my current e-notes into MacJournal. Fairly painless, and it’s given me the opportunity to look at how I’ve structured my notes and given me a chance to rethink my choices.
All this restructuring. You’d think I was a corporate CEO looking to shave dollars off the budget. It’s partially a reaction to feeling stalled with Spirit Cat. I realized, after finishing the last major scene/chapter, that I’ve made a mistake. One that will have to be corrected and one that is fairly major. I’m trying to ignore it, but it’s not working. It’s sitting there with a set of pans it’s stolen from the kitchen, pounding them together. It’s tap-dancing over my sleeping body meowing loudly in my ear. It’s the odor of freshly stepped-in shit wafting up from my boot. What I need to do is to sit down and look at my outline, finish that restructuring.
Instead I’m having an affair with a short story and messing around with the software furniture.
And mixed metaphors. I’m hacking them up like a double homicide.
Tonight was the, what, third, forth meeting of the Sudbury Hypergraphics? It’s coming along nicely. It’s great getting out, shooting the writerly shit. I’m really getting a charge out of the writing exercises, even though they make me feel awkward and weird and goofy. I didn’t want to read mine out loud tonight, thinking last week’s was better, but I read it anyways and it wasn’t so bad. It’s the only way I’ll desensitize myself to sharing my work.
I also got to test drive the new laptop bag, a sweet little brown and green number, designed for a slightly bigger laptop, a 15-inch compared to my 13-inch Macbook, purchased larger on purpose to give me a little more room to carry my tea canister and notebooks, that’s hella-light on the shoulder. Not only can I cram a gob of writing gear in there, I can use it as a regular bag and not have to move belongings back and forth every day. It’s perfect. And yes, I am obsessed – this new bag effectively retires two others that I bought last year. It’s my only girlish fetish, bag shopping, so I consider myself lucky.
My eyeballs (read: contacts) are sticking, I’m trying to drown out the boys playing Rock Band downstairs and I still need the rest of today’s words. I’ve found myself increasingly tempted to not make the word count each day as of late. But I manage, someone, despite myself. I’ve been doing it every day for twenty-seven days now. Is that a habit now?