So I’m over 60,000 words into my paralell coming of age stories of a boy and a girl in two different life situations, and still, I can’t stop my recreational reading. Oh, I tell myself that it’s research and that it’ll be better for me, which is undoubtedly true, but, how much is too much? What if you like reading better than writing? Is it because I’m lazy and just not motivated? Maybe I get intimidated by the quality of my reading, so maybe I shouldn’t read the Pulitzer’s, like Janet Egan’s The Goon Squad, and then its sequel. Totally, fucking awesome. I love it. I know that the key to writing is to write much and often, which is why I started my 1000 words a day page. I should be working on Carmelita’s transitioning from 12 to 16 to get the the climactic sex scene that defines the reason for the entire book, the connection of the two time lines in two different times. You’d think I’d like to write about that. I love Janet Egan. Oh. Did I already say that? I also love that guy who wrote “Less” but the name escapes me only for the reason that it is more distant; oh, and the guy who wrote “Orphan Master’s Son.” I love a lot of people apparently.
Writing is fun when I make myself laugh or feel sad. It’s funny how you start writing and once you start, the things come to you, things you didn’t have in mind when you started, and that’s the cool part, and suddenly you’re chuckling or you write something and think now, that’s good, but a lot of the time you write something and go oh, that’s shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Part of my problem is I’m always so fucking tired, but maybe that’s because I just walked for an hour on the treadmill because I didn’t have enough energy to do my P90x modified for old people arms and something regimen. Poor me. Enough pity for the night. I am tired. Really. I’ll go read in bed now.