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February 09, 2004
sisters
My sister is 38 as of Saturday. We talked on the phone for a while about life, boyfriends, kids, and books.
Whenever I talk to a family member -- from parents to cousins to sisters to uncles -- the question inevitably comes up: "So. Are you still writing that book?" It's the query I see most often, and I don't disdain it. I have always been a somewhat superstitious lot, never really talking about what I'm writing until after it's bought. So naturally, they have no clue what's going on. I don't tend to tell them. Most of my family doesn't realize I've started That Book about twelve times, and that That Book I'm writing now is not the book I was writing ten years ago.
But yes, I am consistently amused by the "Oh! You're still writing?" response I sometimes get. That's me. I write. I don't have a choice. Being surprised that I still write is like being surprised when a cat meows. That's what cats do. That's how they talk.
Speaking of which -- I wrote three pages today, good pages, and I'm now going to have to consider where I'm going from there. There's a lot of dead time between the next big event and where the characters are now. I either say: "Three days passed." or I find something to do in those three days. I admit I don't like the "...and time passed." approach, but, y'know, sometimes time just passes. But then I'm haunted by Elizabeth Lynn's writing, where she manages to make every moment interesting, and I think...can I do that? Or will I just come off as a Robert Jordan wannabe?
And now I go to bed, because it's late, and I have to be up so very early. Sleeeep....
Posted by sdshaver at February 9, 2004 01:59 AM