Shana tovah! (I totally made those, too.)
Well, I've been writing. I have. Just not much here. But that's okay, because yesterday I consolidated the different chunks of the current draft of the novel into one file to send after printing, so that I can start rereading and — one more time, with feeling — get a sense of the entire thing, with the idea of finishing by the end of October. AND I have 1,415 words of a brand-new short story. I know I said earlier that I didn't like writing short stories, but actually, I'm quite enjoying this process — it's kind of cool to spend a daily half-hour or hour on a project and have it move forward in a major way, to discover that there is a larger meaning behind my plot. I thought I was writing about one thing, but it turns out I'm writing about memory. And maybe Twitter.
But blahblahblah introspective/cryptic thoughts on writing. What I wanted to say, is that even though I haven't written much here, if you are really jonesing for a fix, you can find me today on VillageQ, wherein I wax poetic punchy on limping through the final days of summer:
It’s a bit of a cruel joke, the scheduling of this school year. I mean, first there was the summer itself, the eight kajillion weeks in which the only routine was change: different day camps each week, punctuated by travel, camping, and — the cherry on top — the past 11 days, during which time we scheduled no formal activities for the kids with the idea that we would “just all hang out” and Rachel and I would each work half-time and “just hang out” with the kids half-time. It’s day 11 of 11, and my day to work, which means that I am hiding out in my office and steadfastly ignoring any and all chaos going on outside my door.
(For the record, my doorknob is busted: if you close the door all the way then I am effectively trapped in this room, unable to get out unless I unscrew the doorknob and manually turn its inner workings with a wrench.)
(I am contemplating closing the door all the way.) ...
And I'm also up at Today'sParent.com,where I talk about being both parentally and Frisbeely challenged by my child:
“Mom, I’ve noticed something about when we come here,” Rowan says to me.
We’re outside at our friend Carol’s cottage, the waters of Hawkeye Lake lapping at the shore of the narrow beach, the sun beginning its slow descent behind us. Rowan has found a Frisbee and has been coaching me on how to throw it. ... It’s exhilarating.
“So,” I say to him as we play, “what do you notice when we come here?”
“I’ve noticed we don’t fight as much when we’re out here.”
Oof. He may as well have thrown the Frisbee, hard, into my gut. ...
So, that's me, this week. Next week, the chilluns are in school full-time, five days, and perhaps All the Writing of All the Words will take on some kind of more formalized schedule. Or maybe not. Like with my novel, I still don't quite know how this one ends.