Banal, but what can you hope for?

Yesterday I spent the better part of three hours studying voodoun and synopsizing a short story.

At least I think it’s a short story. I’m beginning to think that any story that has a mortal love triangle, a deity love triangle, and the protagonist’s concerns as well should be a longer story. Not a novel, though. I’ve enough of those in process or unstarted.

…it would make a nice novel….

So. Three hours working on synopsis. Exhausting. Can’t explain it; after all was said and done, I had about a page and a half of typing, but my brain was very similar to one of the softer cheeses.

Good. I don’t understand why that should be so much harder than actually writing something, but if it is, it is. I hope to have some amount of a rough draft by the end of this weekend.

Today we packed. And packed. Things that have not been touched in four years — that have not been seen for four years, except by our ubiquitous spiders — were uncovered and sorted, cleaned or disposed of, categorized and packed.

I’m tired. I don’t feel that I’ve done anything, but I’m tired.

There are trout in the oven, a pilaf of seven grains, porcini mushrooms, and sun dried tomatoes on the stove, and a redhead at the spinning wheel creating Miraculous String. A good day, even if it was spent packing.

2 thoughts on “Banal, but what can you hope for?”

  1. I miss that feeling.

    Where you brain feels like a series of tumblers in a lock that have all remained, uh, un-tumbled. Then suddenly this silly little idea hits you, and everything just sorta slides into place. One little offhand idea just starts to expand almost beyond your control in a frenzied mess of plot and characters. You see the scenes that define them, how they could die, and every way in which they live.

    It all happens so fast. It feels so powerful. Indescribable satisfaction, but taxing on the mind that needs to get up for work in the morning once that door is opened.

    The creative process in that situation is bliss. Now, making those ideas into something real… That’s where it gets hard.

    1. In fact, it’s pretty nice. But I like the work, as well. I’m lucky like that.

      The hard part for me is giving myself permission to take the time for the process.

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