Missing only in the sense that they have not been written yet.
Last night’s write in at the Sapporo was quickly swept away in a giggling, sake-induced evening. There were six of us, and we had a great time even though we wrote very little. I’ve learned that sake and I are quite compatible; I get the same breezy, bubbly high from it that I get from white wine and with similarly few after effects. We trundled off to one of the members homes for some actual writing, where I won my first sprint ribbon.
All told, I added five pages to the script yesterday, having transformed my unwitting hero and begun the witch hunt (or, rather, wolf hunt). Things are moving quickly and I am well-pleased.
I’m also setting up another Amazon order. Yes, yes, I realize that this is an addiction, but unlike alcohol or drugs, it betters me in every way. Save my pocketbook. But I am reading Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird, which I borrowed from the library and which used to be my very own copy. (See, Book Purge 2004.) I find myself returning more and more to these first-hand accounts, these testaments to the writing life. And I find that I am getting more out of them.
Ah, must be quick! Running behind and still need to pack for tonight’s write-in. Narrowly avoided buying a book that is technically new but is actually a compilation of two books I already own. Whew!
More to come. I sense navel-gaving spamminess will be the name of the day.