(no subject)
Jan. 3rd, 2005 11:58 pmThe Christmas tree is taken down, and the last of the holiday season decorations packed away for another year. I've finished returning the house to mostly normal. The only sign of the recent holidays is the pile of Christmas gifts that arrived by UPS today, which are all sitting on the round table. I am expecting a smaller box to arrive tomorrow, then I will put everything away. Dishes are done, laundry caught up, and email correspondences written. The cat has been thoroughly vacuumed. Tomorrow I have a handful of errands to run up in the shopping district, and then it is back to the novel. The holidays are over.
I re-read everything I have written for the novel last night, and I continue to hold to the notion that it does not suck, so I'm pretty happy.
I did have one of those moments that I'm sure every writer has. I was reading a story at Strange Horizons, and I thought to myself, "I'll never be this good." I do that sometimes you know. I'll read a story by someone whose work I admire, or by some amazingly talented new writer, and I wonder why I stay in this business in the face of such competition.
Then twenty minutes later I finished a story at another online magazine and thought to myself, "My stuff is so much better than this ----."
Onward.
I re-read everything I have written for the novel last night, and I continue to hold to the notion that it does not suck, so I'm pretty happy.
I did have one of those moments that I'm sure every writer has. I was reading a story at Strange Horizons, and I thought to myself, "I'll never be this good." I do that sometimes you know. I'll read a story by someone whose work I admire, or by some amazingly talented new writer, and I wonder why I stay in this business in the face of such competition.
Then twenty minutes later I finished a story at another online magazine and thought to myself, "My stuff is so much better than this ----."
Onward.