All Or Nothing At All
I missed a few days, didn't I? (So what else is new . . . ) It's the usual all-or-nothing scenario: full concentration on one project or scatter-shot attention to many. There has to be a way to prioritize or delegate or whatever the secret verb is that will make me efficient, productive, and dependable.
God only knows what it is.
I can't even say I've been off having fun. I finished knitting the second of a pair of extremely homely black socks for Roy. I've watched some DVDs courtesy of Netflix (how did we live before Netflix?) (and can you explain how the post office manages to ship Netflixes accurately and at the speed of light but can't send a greeting card from my house to the house down the block w/o a detour or three?) and stared at books I'd like to read but aren't.
My focus is on the Paris wedding novella for Harlequin. I'm not going to publicly embarrass myself by telling you how many times I've rewritten the first ten pages because, quite frankly, I don't want it in print. (Hint: it's a whole lotta times.) I started it in Paris. I started it with them together. I started it with them apart. I started it in the present. I started it when they were teenagers. I started it on a street corner, in a hospital, in a parking lot, on a cruise ship, in a bed. Nothing worked.
And then I suddenly saw them sneaking through a snowy backyard, hand in hand, with wintry moonlight spilling over them and a rented car waiting for them in the driveway where they --
Well, you'll have to wait and see what exactly they do but thank The Muse I think I'm on the right track.
Short is tougher to write than long. No doubt about it. A 100+ page novella will take more close work than a 500+ page full length novel. Every day of the week.