Yesterday: Final workshop of week 1, with five stories, many of which I thought were near publishable as is. These people are effing brilliant. Then, drunken debauchery (three kinds of Scotch!) until all hours.
Today: Went to the gym and am raring to go on my story. It’s immersion fantasy/horror that reads as SF until you’re halfway through, which is messing with me. I’m trying to action/adventure, not my forte, and stretch/take risks. I really need to buckle down and draft this evening so that I have a few days to unmangle the disaster this is likely to be, before submitting it to…
SCALZI. I am unutterably terrified of the man. He does not pull punches, and we are coming off the sweetest, loveliest instructor imaginable. I just hope the rending and tearing are useful, not destructive.
I’m mostly just mad at myself. If I’d submitted a hot mess story last week, Nina would have given solid feedback and I could’ve kept my ego intact. Instead, I submitted an easy gimmick piece that would’ve been PERFECT for Scalzi, whose whole deal is humor writing. Instead, this week I’m all dankity dark dark dark. Pity the muse does not take requests or whatever.
The thing I am working on is evil. I have six scenes blocked out. Even if each of them is only 1500 words (a tall order), that’s a 9000 word story. No one wants to read a 9000 word story. I think I may have inadvertently plotted myself a novel disguised as a short story. Bleargh. Worst case scenario, I draft this tonight and tomorrow, and I still have time to scrap it and write something new before my Wed. submit date.
Now, writing, and then to the beach, and then more writing.