So how does one muster up the courage to tackle this sort of thing? I want to finish it. I want it to be something for which I feel some pride. Does courage build over time? Will I look at my computer one day and say Today Is The Day? Or is it the sort of thing you just force yourself to do one nondescript afternoon, even though it might make you feel forlorn and a bit like puking? Unfortunately, I already know the answers.
It's always something like: "It's different for everyone."
Or, even better: "It's different for every story."
If Calvin's dad were here, he'd say this sort of thing builds character. --He's probably right, though admitting that makes me huffy.
--Cue the Stress Baking--
I made some delicious things this week, as a result of ignoring the stories eating away at my sanity.
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| itty bitty salad rolls (radish provided for size comparison) |
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| strawberry rhubarb pie |
I also made a spicy dipping sauce, black bean soup, and cornbread. All of these things in one day. My kitchen was a mess on Saturday, basically. It is worth noting that of all the stress-related disorders I inherited/developed on my merry own, this one is by far the most productive. Bathroom-cleaning as a form of avoidance is also a pretty good one. I'm abouts to practice that one this evening!
In reading news, I'm enjoying (for the second time) The Vintage Book of Contemporary Irish Fiction. Very content with my choice. I've had a streak of poor luck with contemporary American short stories lately, and short stories are what I need to read if I ever want to get my own short endings right.
Oh, endings. Bane of my existence.
And on that note!
fin.
*the title of a short story I wrote about six months ago.
**along with writers who tackle tough, personal subjects, we could probably include a few people who invent new bombs, occasional members of political parties in charge of "grooming" candidates, and the inventor who will, inevitably, accidentally get the singularity going a bit too early.