Karavansara

East of Constantinople, West of Shanghai


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This writing thing is getting out of hand

I spent the whole day writing, clocking about 8000 words. It was not even that hard – the one true problem was the heat (we are again over 30°C with swimming-pool grade humidity and not a breath of air).
I also found the time to take a little walk after sunset, and I submitted two stories. One already came back with a list of required changes.

But yesterday night it was fun – we went out and met a writer friend, and spent the evening sitting out of a bar, drinking cool lemonade and talking shop.
The Doobie Brothers were wrong. It’s not hiding your heart. It’s these breaks, when you spend an evening rambling about everything with an intelligent person, staying away from the PC, internet and your current WIP(s), that keep you running,

But there are some drawbacks.
For instance, I came home last night well convinced I’ll write a mystery novel this coming winter. I’ll do it the way Stephen King does: six pages a day. Work two solid months, you get 360 pages.
The trick, I guess, is to have a solid outline, and extensive notes when you set out on this journey.
I will do it.