Nose first

I put my nose in my writing* today for the first time in more than a month. I now have seven little piles of paper, representing seven projects, neatly arranged on my desk. One of them is notes for a 300-word gadget review; another is reminders for a couple blog entries. Those are gimmees.

Then there's three short stories for which I have some notes and some text, but not a whole bunch. These are the "fresh" projects. One of them came to me when Herself and I visited Brussels last May.

Another pile, substantially taller than the others, represents a story that was "fresh" when I thought of it about five years ago. I've worked on it on and off since then, sometimes for a couple weeks straight. Sometimes I think it's 90 percent there; sometimes I think I should pitch it.

Then there's a mighty pile of paper, the rewrite-in-progress of a 25,000-word novella that was well-received at Walter Jon Williams's Rio Hondo workshop in the summer of 1999.

These last two are what I cheerfully refer to as any-idiot stories. As in "any idiot could polish these off in a couple weeks." I've got a few more of those lying around, and this idiot will be taking another crack at them in due course.

Finished Sebstian Junger's The Perfect Storm today. I bought it when it came out in '99, wondering about this guy who came out of nowhere to write a non-fiction best seller. I've got literally a hundred books on my "to read" shelf (I just counted them), and at this rate I could burn through them all by the end of the year, assuming I develop no external life and buy no more books. (The latter is unlikely.) Then I could spend another couple years reading back issues of magazines. I get pleasure from reading books, and a separate pleasure from buying them. Now I'm trying to cultivate the pleasure of walking into a bookstore and coming out empty-handed.

Before settling my nose in my writing, I played a truly epic game of Risk: 37 turns, when the normal game is 10 or 12, and I was lagging until the 32nd. I know, I know, it stirs the blood.

* "Put your nose in your writing every day" was Herself's advice. (Credit where due.) It has a simplicity that my own writing prescriptions have always lacked. I come up with things like: Write for two hours a day, every day. Or except on weekends. Or except when I'm away from home. Or do a Hemingway -- 500 words per day. Not including revisions. Or including revisions. Or with a discount for revisions. Make up missed days. Or not. Use a rolling average. Multiply by pi and always allow for windage. Like that.