Now that the paperback version of Strange Beasts in a Small Town is wrapped up and ready to go, it’s time to get started on my next project in earnest. To tell the truth, I’m kind of dreading it.
Confession time: I’m a super lazy writer. Most of the time, I love the feeling of having written far more than the process of actually writing. You know what I’m talking about, right? The feeling of having accomplished something? That warm glow that makes you feel like a total badass because you managed to squirt out 500 words of pure drivel? That feeling? I love that. I would marry that feeling if I weren’t already married to a real life human being. Also, I’m not sure you can marry something intangible. I need to look into that. Don’t tell Mandy.
Of course, I’ve yet to invent a device that provides the feeling of accomplishment without all the icky work that goes along with it. It’s not that I don’t think it’s possible to create a gizmo like that; it’s just, I’d have to get off my lazy butt and put some effort into it. As we’ve already established, that ain’t gonna happen. Nope.
Speaking of 500 words…that’s my daily goal. It’s not much, but I don’t really have high expectations for myself. I’ve been hurt too many times in the past.
My admission comes with a bit of an excuse: Since writing is my job, (for those who don’t know, I’m the staff writer for a small community newspaper in Mississippi) I’m kind of reluctant to do more of it in my spare time. I mean, I’m not exactly writing stuff I enjoy all day long (for example, today I wrote a story about a man being arrested for shooting a bald eagle; tomorrow, I’m scheduled to interview the owner of an auto parts store. This isn’t exactly stretching my creative muscles.), but there are times that the thought of writing when I don’t have to makes me all grumbly. No thank you.
Of course, if I don’t write, I feel worse. Like a really lazy shit. That’s no good, either.
Of course of course, the smart ass among you might point out that I’m writing right now, just wasting everybody’s time with a bunch of nonsense. To you, I stick out my tongue. Don’t point that kind of stuff out to me. I’m volatile.
Anyway, when I am writing something, I’m juggling two different projects. One’s a novel — an expansion of the idea behind a short story I wrote called “My Second Roommate,” which is about a college student who rooms with 80s slasher film villain Michael Myers. You can read that here, if’n you want. The new, longer version will, of course, substitute the famous character for something a bit more original (but still derivative. Is it a bad idea to call my own work derivative? Oh well.), but carry the same themes. In my mind, it’s called “Rufus Was My Second Roommate,” but that may change. My mind’s really fickle.
The other project is something a bit different. I’m working on gathering a bunch of my rhymey poems into a collection of sorts, plus adding some all new “epic” poems. Tentative name for the collection: “The Toaster Thief and Other Stories that Rhyme.” I can’t promise they’ll all be good, but I can promise they’ll all rhyme. It’s right there in the title. Being good, on the other hand, is not in the title.
All I can say is, “We’ll see.”
Oh, look — 593 words. Done.