Homework

Though I have not posted of my last few writers group, the meetups have gone very well.  So well, in fact, that the organizer, Brent, has opted for meeting every week for a while - just to see how it goes.  The last three meetings have been about writing/editing your novel.  Monday's up-coming gathering is called, "Show-off Night."  Members are being asked to bring their best works to present to the gang.

If placed on the spot, before a firing squad, with bazooka-sized rounds that would cut me in two, and asked what my favorite thing was I ever wrote, my diet would go so much better.  I would lose half my weight immediately.

Brent has read several passages from his self-published books.  Keiti never fails to pull up an autobiographical fiction piece.  Everyone has stuff printed out or on their e-readers/laptops.  If I poke through my folders on my laptop, I cringe at everything I find.  When I work up the courage to open a document, I cannot read it.  My eyes unfocus.  The letters on the page blur.  I turn away, clicking the red X before I do permanent damage.

I love what I write when I'm writing it.  While most days, writing tends to be a "ice needle in the eye" painful, I never fail to feel wonderful after I'm done.  I love the high after creating.

"I hate writing, but I love having written."  - Dorothy Parker

I cannot find a quote to explain why I stop loving my work after I abandon it (Picasso said no work is ever done, and that's how I feel).  I never look back. Once the umbilicord is cut, I kick the kids out the door to survive on their own like some ancient lizard.

That can't be healthy, for me or my stories.

So, tonight and tomorrow, I'm digging up the past.  I rolling in the old worlds.  I'm reading my old work.

How much booze can you send?