eglantine_br (eglantine_br) wrote,
eglantine_br
eglantine_br

As writing advice goes

Been quite stalled in the next section of my Kit stuff. It is like hacking my way through dense underbrush. The story feels as if it is resisting me, instead of helping me. There is no feeling of increasing energy-- if that makes sense. It drains and drags.

There is a lot of writing advice out there. Today I am thinking of the one that says 'Start as close to the end as possible.'  you can always go back and put filler in. So I am going to try that.

Have you guys been in this predicament? Have you tried jumping to the middle? Does it work?

And would anyone like to read total self-indulgent AU Bush smut? That is the only other thing in my head right now. I have not written it because it seemed sort of self-indulgent. But sometimes you have to write what is on top to get at what is underneath. Like, cleaning an attic or something.

In other news: It is very hot here. 90's. Have been in swimming several times now. The beach is so close it is possible to go every day. C has been every day with her friends. The sun is fading the scars on her leg. (From the Mersa, from the illegal tattoo.)

We are having a lot of trouble with our mail. Getting everything forwarded from our old address is possible only in theory. What it means in real life is this: We have had no snail mail since we moved. The USPS is useless. The tech for changing your address dates from about 1962.

They have fireworks every friday on the Coney Island boardwalk. Hazel hides in the bathroom. She was terribly scared on the fourth. She has now become quite skittish about going out after dark. She checks out the windows on her way down the stairs. (Windows are at dog height on the stairwell, oddly.) If she sees anything worrisome she runs right back up to our door again. Makes it hard to get her emptied for the night. But if I can get her outside, she has a really good time. Most people seem to like her immediately. Everyone can see she is a very kind dog. Yesterday she met two little girls about 4. They waved at her and said 'Hi, doggie.' Then she met a basset hound, an intact male basset hound, who was not permitted to get close. His name was Everett. It is hard to tell with hounds, but he looked quite young. Hazel is spayed of course, but he could smell that she was a lady dog.

I am becoming accustomed to the three flights of stairs. They do not leave me as breathless as before. Of course I am usually carrying something down or up. Groceries are a real pain. Even when I pay to have them delivered I end up having to carry some. But I can feel myself getting stronger. There is an upside to being shaped like a cart-horse!

Well, enough dithering. I am going to try to write something.
Tags: from brooklyn, writing about writing instead of writing
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