I have finished my stripper story (THANK GOD!)…first draft, anyway. Now that I have it out of my system, I am not all that interested in doing much else to it. At least not for right now. I probably need a break from those characters anyway. I *have* sent it to friends for review, and I may need to tap a few more for some first-hand fact checking (since I really don’t know all that much about strippers, strip clubs, etc.), but once I feel it is “finished,” I am thinking I will probably try to post it to a “download to your Kindle/iPad” kind of place and offer it for sale for $0.99. I mean, what could it hurt? Maybe I’ll make a buck or two. I will share that whole process when I get there.
But today, with the early morning drenched in a constant pattering of rain, waking up in the arms of my love, listening to my dogs softly snoring in the next room…and then realizing I have to leave them to come to a desk job…It is exactly the kind of thing that inspires me to recapture that writing vigor that makes my palms itch for an artist’s life. One where I can sleep through the rain in a cozy bed, make myself a whole pot of coffee and drink it at my leisure, stay in my pajamas, crack open a new (or old) notebook and put pen to paper. If I can really get something going, I could work into the wee hours of the night when my brain is best at conjuring stories and poetry and visions of grand landscapes.
And somehow I will sneak writing into my day today, and somehow I will make it my life, instead of the thing that is constantly singing to me…a siren on some distant shore, incessantly calling my name.