Last night I came home from a satisfying day of running writing bouts with my colleagues, and decided to just chill and lift a glass in celebration of all the things I got done this week. Some of them — most notably the taxes — had dragged on for quite a while (total of six months, for that one). Others, such as business correspondence, had both risen and been resolved in the space of a week.
It’s OK to relax. I have to repeat that to myself, because the workaholic, first-generation code with which I was raised doesn’t permit that. But as more than one of my artistic mentors has pointed out, we are not factory workers; neither do we work in the ER. The slack time is the fertile ground for the imagination to work, in dreams and silence and behind our backs, so to speak.
I’m looking at Chuck Wendig’s flash-fiction challenge for next week, which begins with a collection of off-the-wall stock photos. There are at least six of them that get a little fish-nibble below the waterline where the stories lurk, so I may well run with all of them and choose one to be my official entry. I’ve gotten really fond of short fiction lately; great short-story writers can pack a novel into a thousand words or less.
So on my list of social duties for the next days is to read and comment on the stories that my colleagues have posted.
I’m also getting ready for CONvergence, which means looking at the backlist to see how much of it can be published before the convention. Given all the positive comments on the character interviews for Inside the Jump, I’m looking at editing them into stand-alone stories and publishing them.
So look for links to all this very, very soon. And yes, I am still going to post the Wild Horses Gender Roundtable; editing that is on the list for this weekend.