These last two weeks have brought very little in the way of stability to my life. I’m moving forward with my project, DDL, which is crossed (I think) the half way mark. I know I’m at the half-way mark because today I despaired ever finishing. The shine has worn off and it feels like I’ll (insert swoon) never get it done. This weekend I plan to stock up on healthy food and coffee and make an attempt to bang out a good sizable chunk of it.
It’s funny. I used to write at night. I once sat listening to a song called “Benjamin” by Veruca Salt, on repeat, from nightfall until dawn working on a terrible teen angsty story (a story which surprisingly got me college accolades). Now I find that my most productive writing hours are those that come before noon.
I’m managing to lose all the weight I gained while working on The Last Guardian, and Jak & the Giants. I might actually be able to fit into my “skinny” shirts by Europe. Today I had cake though, which means I have to punish the treadmill tonight.
Which is coming up faster than I want it to. My trip compatriots are being zero help in the planning, which wouldn’t be bad if I were going alone, but they want everything planned, they just don’t want to plan it.
My trip is going to give me the opportunity to do one thing I’ve always dreamed of doing: Spend a day writing in a Parisian cafe. I’ve purchased a new journal for the occasion and I’m ready.
After Europe I’ll be winging out to Boulder for my BFF’s 30th and to scope out the place for my probable move next year. Yay for any place where I can ski when I want.
I was thinking about a book of short stories I want to write. I read about the Canadian man who was brutally murdered on the Greyhound for no apparent reason (stabbed and beheaded) and my first thought after watching news clips and reading numerous articles was, “37 people ran off the bus and not ONE tried to stop the crazy man with a knife from beheading the poor guy?” I mean, I’m no hero, I probably would have run too, but from everything I read, I don’t see why four or five guys couldn’t have overpowered the mega-crazy guy. So I wanted to write a book called “37 Ways to Watch Someone Die.” It would be 37 short stories, each from the POV of one of the people who ran.