Writers. Writing. All That.

I always seem to have a head full of thoughts until I get the code right for the title. Then everything either goes blank, or suddenly sounds presumptuous. Like this evening, I was thinking that I am not a huge fan of other writers...and that's not as people. As people, I find a depth in other writers, and sometimes ours are a similar shade. It's the numbers game that gets to me.

It goes: How many words have you written today? I try to keep my daily word count around 20,000. My last piece was 500,000 words, but it could have been longer. I've gotten to my personal magic number, which is 15,000, but I was tired at the time and I had to drive across the state.

I don't understand numbers. That doesn't mean I don't know how many pages 20,000 words will fill. It means it's a foreign concept to me. I can't wrap my head around it. Seriously. Maybe that will change some day, I don't know. But it always sounds like "My baby is SO smart!!!!1!" Maybe it's making writing into a competition in a way that just doesn't need to happen. Some days I'm happy that I got three words out...but they were the EXACT three I was looking for, and at four in the morning, that's pretty good (because I've been up all night puzzling over those words). I do flash fiction, and I think that's why. I trust my reader. I say "kitchen" and an image comes to your mind of what a kitchen looks like. I'm not going to argue with your ideas, unless it's important where the sink is (in one of my pieces, I stalled at the description of a kitchen...why? I don't know. I was only in that kitchen for about five minutes while I was being grilled over drivers licenses and vegetarianism. All that mattered was it smelled really good, and there was a REALLY hot guy in that kitchen...which ended up my downfall, but hey. I won't spoil the book once I take it out of time out for lying). "Tree" Quick. Describe a tree. One tree in one book mattered because it snapped and made a main character break her arm.

I tried to read a book titled "Writing Tight". I quit about ten pages in because it was nonstop bonsai references, that just seemed to clutter the point. If I wrote a book about it, there would be four words: "Use fewer words. Fin"

And it's also why I'm a crappy blogger. I'm writing now because our new dog Damndelion has disappeared into the night, I am sure to commune with his newest bestests, coyotes. No I'm not concerned if he gets beat up; he's a scrappy little guy and I'm not entirely sure he's not at least some coyote himself. Goofy, and at stupid times very skittish. I could work on my work but I keep eyeing the door in hopes I can go to bed soon. Sometimes I have to shake a cup full of dog food to get his attention, but I'm guessing with the thaw, there's a lot of interesting stuff out there to roll in. Yummay.

And Biker Jacket has been woven in to my most recent work. I'm fond of that piece. It takes me places I need to be sometimes.

Now I'm just tired, and while I could continue on with words so I can up my count for the day (hahaha), I already got the transition piece I needed done and now I'm killing time.

Again. I like other writers. I just don't understand most of them.

Fin