I had a dream last night that I was at a great writers conference. Lots of great socializing. Talented writers doing great work. Then, the conference ended and we all dispersed. We were all rushing to catch our planes. Everyone was taking off except me. All kinds of obstacles thrust into my way ~ earthquakes, giant beasts, walls shooting up to the sky. So I missed my plane. I don’t remember being scared so much as very frustrated and sorrowful. I was missing my chance to take off.
You guessed it. This dream is directly related to my writing. Life’s been getting in the way lately, and I haven’t been meeting self-imposed deadlines. I’ve been sick and there’s been vacation and we’ve been doing a thorough housecleaning. Also, I haven’t been accomplishing my SSFD and I haven’t been able to work on the new novel nor revising the old novel very much. Plus I’ve been having some agent interest, and I’ve always met those deadlines, but I don’t want to drop the ball on that front. It’s making me quietly frantic. I feel like I might be missing the boat ~ er, the plane ~ even though there’s no outside deadline that I have missed.
All this means I need to get some writing and revising done. The pressure’s building to get some work done. I just hope it doesn’t have to work up to an excruciating level for me to carve out some time and get busy.
What I’m Reading Today: More great Scribner’s Anthology.
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