I recently acquired Snoopy's Guide to the Writing Life while on vacation in Colorado. I found a used copy for eight bucks in this great little new/used bookshop in Boulder. I read the entire thing between Boulder and getting back to our vacation "home" in Greeley, and I have to say I felt much more enlightened after peeking into the trials that have befallen Snoopy's writing career over the years.
I read book five of the Harry Potter series on the road (thank God I don't get carsick). Then I spent the following week doing nothing but going to work reading books six and seven, because I just knew someone was going to spoil it for me if I didn't get through it fast. I've heard mixed reviews of the last book, but other than a terribly long first half (which, I must admit, had only necessary information for its tiresome read), I thought it ended the only way it really could have that wouldn't have made me sad/angry/upset/want to hurtle the book across the room to hear the satisfying thud against the wall. Kudos, J.K.
My own bestseller is slow going. I look forward to the weekends for all the free time to write, but when they are actually here I can't pull myself to the laptop. For instance, this weekend I went to a movie night on Friday, ran errands and was lazy on Saturday, and went to Disneyland with my mom and sister on Sunday. This weekend procrastination lasts until Sunday night, anyway, when I have to sudden urge at nine p.m. to get all the pent-up creativity out, but it's hindered by knowing if I don't go to bed by eleven I will not be a happy Monday camper.
Which brings me to my Monday afternoon writing session, and the week starts anew.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment