Fifty Light Years On

I haven’t said much about writing during the last week, because I haven’t been doing a lot of writing.  After finishing Diners last Monday, I needed a break.  I needed a breather, because I was getting into a lot of burnout.  Not just from writing, but a lot of personal issues as well.

Doesn’t mean I’m nothing thinking, or even half-doing, however.  I do have Replacements, that I’m writing on another site, but I was a bad boy over the weekend, and just couldn’t find the time to get to it.  My fault, I know.  I shouldn’t have been such a slacker, but the moment got to me, over and over, and I couldn’t get to writing.

So I added a few hundred words last night, and I should add a few hundred more tonight, and by Thursday I should have that section to add, and another to go next Monday.  See?  Better already.

I started editing Echoes on Sunday.  I didn’t realize it, but I’d edited it once already.  I don’t remember doing that, but there it is.  I must have run an edit once . . . move on.

The edit this time around–already kicked about one hundred words out, and tightened up the story just a little.  I’m going to do a little every night, get it into final edit form.  It’s a good story, but for some reason I get strange when I’m reading.

But beyond that, there’s been another idea rolling about in my head.  That’s usually dangerous, because these little ideas tend to get sorta big.

The funny thing is, this idea originally started out as a five hundred word scene that I did for a creative writing class.  The teacher hated it; no, really.  She more or less ripped it apart, going on about how I wasn’t explaining why some things happened, why I was using foreign words in a sentence without giving a translation, why I wasn’t doing a set up that told the reader why they were here, and who this main character of mine was.

The funny thing was, a few people who read the scene thought it rocked; they thought it was a great little intro that set up a story, without giving anything away.  Which, as I explained to the instructor, was what I was doing.  Not that she cared, but hey, that’s the breaks.  I wasn’t writing for her; I was writing for me.

This story is coming back to me.  Why?  Because it is.  I’m thinking of things to do, and it’s coming up more and more.  Maybe it’s something I want to write.  Or at least develop.  Because there is a world there to build.  It’s based off of other things, but it’s still my world.  It’s also, I feel, an interesting world, and since I’m so good at world building . . . maybe when I have some time, I’ll pull up a Scrivener file and start putting this one together.

Having notes never hurts.

Before you know it, those notes will actually means something . . .