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Rain, rain, go a -- no, stay!

Okay, I don't write enough. I've been feeling the twitch for three days. I don't write everyday. Much like exercise, it is something I know I should do - I always feel better afterward - but I inevitably put it off, do the things that at least seem more immediate, if not more important.

Anyway, I just drove back from Lexington and my Thursday night computer class (midterm next week - ugh!). It was noticeably dark and then I hit the Gene Snyder and it began pouring. It rained some yesterday, too, and I noticed my mood lifting. It hadn't rained here in 45 days according to the weatherman. It's hard to believe I would want change from the gorgeous weather we had (60's & 70's and bright sunshine), but I did. I'm relishing my time in my apartment with the sounds of rainfall outside and a good book (more on that in a moment) and a hot cup of decaf tea.

Currently, I have been reading and thoroughly enjoying Joe R. Lansdale's The Two-Bear Mambo, one of his Hap Collins mysteries. I give Lansdale a lot of credit for getting me excited about writing again. He has a gift for language that is very real. He writes about big issues (relationships between men & women, race relations, and man questioning his life and its meaning) in the midst of the most base human instincts and needs. In this book, he had a wonderful line about the day being "as hot as the devil's farts." That turn of phrase, as many of Lansdale's do, stuck with me. I love authors who not only have a strong sense of story, but also a playful sense of language and, when appropriate, social commentary. I'm tired at the moment so only a few names come immediately to mind - Twain, Hemingway, Sherman Alexie, Terry Pratchett (who I need to read much, much more of), Elmore Leonard, etc. (I'm sure I'll get comments & suggestions on this list). I aspire to this.

Which brings me to the topic of my own writing. Last night, Rosepurr, my wonderful sweetie, and I were talking about my writing. I admit I brought the subject up; I noticed she seemed a bit put-off by the stories I had shown her. Nonetheless, she has become my personal cheerleader and PR person, discussing my work with a small press publisher at Archon, and even getting him to consider looking at my work, even though they are not officially taking submissions at the moment. I actually don't necessarily care if they publish (although I'm optimistic); it would be nice to get a professional opinion and evaluation.

But anyway, with regards to Rosepurr, she said that she was bothered by the pessimism in my work. It's food for thought because while I don't think I'm a pessimist in my life, my stories tend toward pessimism. Granted, I'm largely a horror writer, although I dabble in the crime/thriller/mystery genre. She also commented that she prefers psychological horror to the more gore-filled, traditional monster-in-the-closet stuff I tend toward (too much Stephen King as a teenager, I'm afraid).

She reminds me of a writing teacher I had in college, who said I needed to write about people I cared about. Which is hard. Maybe I am a pessimist. I'm completely disgusted with people. Well, most people. I have a very select group of people I spend time with and the rest of the world can go to hell. Today, for example, I saw an old man in an SUV with a W bumpersticker, smoking a cigarette. I yelled (with my window closed) for him to smoke faster, get cancer & die so he couldn't vote.

So I'm thinking, though, I need to write something positive, with characters I care about. It's too easy to get bogged down in pessimism, particularly with the world the way it is these days. The truth is, though, my life is really good; I don't have much personal reason for pessimism. There is a lot of bad in the world; I'm not burying my head in the sand, but I can't let the world's problems dominate my life.

But I had an idea for a story (or perhaps a series) on my way back from Lexington tonight. I don't want to do a lot of discussing here; I just prefer to work through it on my Word Processor.

For now, that's it. (Have I made up for my lack of LJ writing?) Perhaps I'll do more tomorrow, but, in the immortal words of the Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, "I sleep now."

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