I (I said you try it, not me) am writing a story that comes one page at a time. Ok, all stories come one page at a time, or rather, one word at a time. But this one feels different. I think it's a literary thing, oddly enough, though speculative as well. The main character is Satan, and you might not know that Satan is very reserved. I wrote my page for today and the dialogue dried up and I guess I'll look at it again tomorrow or the next day. I know where they're going, but something about the journey frightens me.
I am making headway on my reading. I have my critique group subs (one more to go there) and I'm exchanging chapters with this chic across the country. She writes historical fiction and I think our ignorance of each others' genres lets us concentrate on the writing. She's nailed me on some valid points, and I like to think I'm doing the same for her.
I also vowed to read before bed instead of TV. My books are stacked like fat pancakes with guilt as syrup. I finished this book on "How not to write", which I liked very much. It confirmed what I knew, which gives me that self-satisfied smirk I'm so in need of after getting back a harsh critique. Last night I started the 3 am Epiphany. It's filled with exercises and if I start doing them I'll put them on "test" for you writer-readers. Tonight I swear to kill the subs in my ElectricSpec inbox.
Hinterland is going well. Each chapter has up to four sets of detailed comments. I think I'm still on schedule to submit in May.
Ash Wednesday is, well, Wednesday. It's a ritual that speaks of past, present, and future, and you get to walk around with a cross on your forehead all day. Last year mine looked more like an ordinary smudge, so people were going, "Uh, you've got dirt on your forehead." I'm thinking God knew what it was, though.