It's November here on the Central Coast and last night we welcomed our first significant rain of this season. Yes, welcomed. One can only take so much sun and blue skies.
The words haven't been flowing much of late, as distractions and procrastination are handy excuses for ignoring the muse. I've been concentrating on environmental missives to our so-called representatives in local government, plus inexhaustable genealogical research. And then there's daily walks, cloud counting and wildlife appreciation that must be curated and filed.
I'm reading Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein once again, for the umpteenth time. Always something new to grok in fullness in this book. This is the original version as Heinlein wrote it. It was subsequently edited down for publication. Heinlein's daughter republished the original manuscript, which contains extensive passages that didn't appear in the first publication. I recognize several phrases that I have adopted and forgotten where they came from!
When James Michener was working on Alaska at Sheldon Jackson College, he told me he was more of a researcher than a novelist. He found turning the historical and natural history materials into epic prose a hard and onerous task. I understand that feeling. I love the research and I find fiction writing difficult and tedious. I suspect I've never been much of story teller.
Every now and then, The Muse grabs me by the wrist and drags me to this poor defenseless keyboard, to pound away the thoughts that wake me up at four in the morning. The words flow onto the screen unforced and natural. It feels good. But then, what to do with them? Haven't worked that out yet.
Meanwhile, it's easier to sit here and create on a grey and drizzly day. Maybe I'll get something put together after all.
Stay tuned, and stay dry.
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The reminiscences of my writing life, my not so writing life and a search for sanity outside the asylum.