I managed to write tonight. I’ll confess, my heart wasn’t in it. I’m becoming more and more enthused about the project, but something personal took the wind out of my sails tonight. This thing comes up every once in a while, and I suppose the only reason to bring it up here is to make note that we have to keep plugging away as writers, sometimes when we don’t feel like we want to. If I can stow this some place for my next project, this awful heart wringing, and remember it when I need it, it can make for a very powerful story indeed. It’s just not what I need right now while I’m writing a light-hearted book for children.
It’ll be perfect for Mark Twain’s Daughter, the short story I want to write about Susy Twain’s death from meningitis. Samuel Clemens isn’t the total loser my own parents were, but to suggest living with him was easy on his daughters is, well, there should be parallels that I can use. Method writing.
Okay. This is not the entry to talk about Hercules in. So, I’ll be back to spam you with another entry shortly. Meanwhile, I guess the salient point is that we can use it all in stories, even the baggage we have that may not be fair, right, or our fault.
Moodily and Broodily,
Catherine
