Yesterday, I noticed the kindergarteners are more antsy and silly than they’ve been all year. I guess it’s a combination of the warm weather and knowing that there are only ten school days left. But I feel the same way … though not as silly. My allergies are just crazy this year. Those of you who are Facebook friends know I’ve even had a serious case of hives, the likes of which I haven’t had in many moons. So maybe allergies and their meds have something to do with why I can’t settle my mind to write anything like a post with a real topic.
In any case, I’ll share what’s on my writing mind today. The drama continues in one of the writing groups I belong to. (Word hates it when I end a sentence with a preposition.) Having spent a good deal of my life avoiding people, it amazes me that I am a member of such groups to begin with, but even more so that people who submit their writing to other writers for critique can then take offense at receiving anything less than positive feedback. If you think the other writers in your critique group are harsh, just wait until you encounter agents and editors.
My rush of words has been reduced to a trickle the last couple days. Not that I don’t have the urge to get on with the story, I just haven’t had the time. I have critiques I’m obligated to finish first. So I write notes to myself on what to include in the next scenes, bits of dialogue, an element of the story I’ve decided to cut, so I’m still writing in that sense. My biggest “unknown” is how I will end up writing Part III. I’ve compiled notes and partial scenes for three different ways to write it. I know I’m not going for a bleak ending, but I’m not quite sure if I will end it on sweet, semi-sweet or 70% cacao. How much should I leave to the reader’s imagination? ‘Tis a puzzlement.
Okay, I’ll wrap this up like a burrito—segue—I’ve come to the conclusion that there simply has to be some addictive substance in Carl’s Jr.’s steak and egg burrito because every day that I have to keep the car, necessitating that I actually leave the house and drive my husband to work, I seem powerless to pass by without hitting the drive-thru for my fix. (Word also hates when I write long sentences like that. Do I care?)