Well, here it is, winter again
Not working full-time—I have to say, I think it agrees with me. I've been fully occupied, no naps, no slacking. A nice social lunch planned today, but that's the first, truly!
I've started at the Winter Writers Lab. There are 8 of us, all with our different projects, which of course are all fascinating. Back there tomorrow morning to account for myself. Which I can, very adequately, because...
I have 10 pages towards the first short story of 2 that I owe people this month. I've also put an afternoon's research towards it (and photocopied a swag of material for novel research too), at the State Library.
I've used my writing room both days. Once for doing Pilates, once for actual writing (the 10 pages).
I've judged a pile of manuscripts for the Vogel. Oh my goodness, it's scary, the number of people who are out there penning novels. As with all judging and editing, the longlistable ones announce themselves very clearly and calmly. It's ploughing through the unindented paragraphs and howlers of the others, to give them a fair hearing, that's the hard bit. Actually, the big problem with a lot of them—and I remember, this was the problem with my Vogel entry back in, ooh, that'd be 1988—is absence of forward momentum, absence of story, absence of point. The idea that if you fill 200 pages with words, that must be a novel. Oh ho, but it's not, people.
Today I have to check what I sent to the accountant for the tax return, which apparently doesn't add up, and write some story, and write a bunch of publicity for 2 different websites. Also do lunch, if possible without too much wine, so that in the afternoon I can, oh I don't know, find a cure for cancer? Take over the world?