I keep forgetting to write here because I’m so busy working on the book, but I just finished a new story yesterday so I’m going to take today off to think about the next one. I might as well keep my fingers nimble here in the interim. For those of you keeping track (BREATHLESSLY, I’m sure), I’m at 132 pages, and just over 30,000 words, which means what exactly? I guess I’m not quite halfway done with a first draft. I was trying to do the math to see if there was any way at all I could have this sucker finished by the end of summer, but I know that I will run out of money long before that is a possibility. Too bad, because I’m on a roll with this one.
Last night I had dinner at the home of Ada Calhoun, a very motivated lady herself (and by the way her blog, 90sWoman, is one of my favorites because duh, I am one, and also it is 100% correct always), and I noticed she had The Diaries of Dawn Powell on her bookshelf, along with all of her other beautiful books. (Big tall bookshelves in the middle of a room are the best. They demand attention.) I lit up because a few years ago Kate had given me a copy of the diaries and I loved them because Dawn Powell SPEAKS THE TRUTH.
Like she is always worried about money (like me), except when she’s not (like me), except fuck money because all you need is a pencil stub and some paper to actually write. And she is completely obsessed (I have no problem with that word being used in reference to myself; I do not consider it an insult, or cause for alarm) with making whatever she is working on the absolute best thing it can be (and she usually totally convinced that it is), and she cares little about anything else except for a few spare friends and her child, of course. She is ALWAYS thinking about her work, and she is ALWAYS working, except when she occasionally makes fun of someone or drinks too much or is sad because how come no one loves her work as much as she does even though, obviously, fuck you if you don’t.
I mean, she’s wrong and she’s right, just as I am always wrong and right, except really, I’m right, because if I’m wrong, I’m totally fucked.
