About a month ago I told myself that after Labor Day I’d try to start a new novel. But that’s not going to happen.
A week from today I have to have minor surgery. I know that leaves me Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, but I can’t concentrate because I’m nervous about the surgery. Maybe others wouldn’t be, but I am and that’s that.
So I’ll start on September 10th. How do I feel about that? Anxious.
I also hate to give up all the reading time I’ve had these last months and months. Despise having to get on a schedule. I know I posted awhile back that I wouldn’t have to be on one, but I know me. I need that structure.
I’m not going to be able to take my laptop down to the new Starbucks and sip coffee and write. That’s a fantasy. I’m going to be right here, staring at a blank page in Word on my nice flat Xerox screen. During my writing hours I’m not going to peek at email or log on to Sarah Weinman's Blog to see what I should read next. And I can’t check Ed Gorman's Blog for interesting reflections or pop over to A Writer's Life to see if Lee Goldberg is writing about me again. I kid my Lee.
Nope can’t do any of that stuff. I have to sit here from nine to noon, or a little later, and tap out what I can. Yes, I have an idea. I still don’t know if it’s viable, but I have give it a try.
If it ends up like my last attempt, 200 pages or so and not being able to finish, I don’t know what I’ll do. I won’t swear that I’ll hang up my computer, but I might.
The lure of writing that 20th novel is still with me. I’m going to give it my best shot.