A Day in the Life
Happy Saturday, world.
Sometimes there’s so much book inside my head that I feel it pressing on the inside of my skull. It’s not a bad feeling – being full of story – but it’s hard to focus on anything else. The unwashed dishes sit on the counter, sending stink waves through our tiny home. The body pleads for exercise, but the mind is like: HOLD UP THERE, BUCKO, WE GOTTA WRITE.
Out of My Element
My writing group gave me feedback on a few chapters in The Hard Way Home, and it’s time to lock down certain fiddly details about spaceflight in my universe. How fast the ships can move. How far they can travel. Physics.
Science fiction readers are a discerning bunch, and it’s real tough not to burst the bubble of believability, even in space opera.
I was not a STEM major, but thankfully, scientists write books for people like me. I’ll pick up a couple this week and hammer out the details.
A Possible Fix
I trunked a mystery novel recently because it wasn’t working. I’d tried to pull out the salvageable bits, but they fell to pieces in my hands. Live and learn, right? Well, I’ve come up with a possible fix for that story, and I’m feeling – dare I say – optimistic? My optimism and my realism kick each other’s shins beneath the covers at night, but I try to give hope a fair hearing.
Today, I’m glad to have two stories galloping through my brain. You work on one until you hit a snag, then you can switch. It’s like doing intervals at the gym. Cardio, then the weights, then back again. Any more than two stories and I won’t finish anything, but two is manageable. Fun, even.
Back to it!
And body, you can stop hassling me for exercise. I’ll do the dishes and take a walk this afternoon. Promise.