So I want to start writing again. For real writing. I don’t know if it’s the thrill of finishing up the knitting pattern I’ve been working so hard on or what, but I feel ready RIGHT NOW.
Only… I have a problem. I am not sure WHAT to write.
Will and I will always work on our screenplays together. In fact, before I start any other projects I’ve got to finish some work that I was in the middle of when I got this damn cold that still hasn’t completely gone away why won’t it go away I want it to go away now. But it’s not the #1 priority for either of us. Perhaps this is foolish, since we have a manager who is interested in us. I don’t know. But Will’s novels are at the very forefront of his world and they should be. When he talks about writing he is so happy. Only Sam makes him happier, for real.
I have tried to write novels. Or really, I have tried to write the same novel a couple of times. It is not a very good novel and I do not enjoy writing it. And frankly, none of my ideas are novel-sized. So I think that is not the path for me.
Several years ago I got an email from a reader (who is now a friend!) suggesting that perhaps I should write a parenting book for people who want to parent in the manner that I do (which is–um–pseudo-hippie? I don’t have any idea, actually) and don’t know how. Which is a nice idea, but 1) I don’t think I have enough knowledge to impart, and 2) the parenting market is way over-saturated and I don’t feel like fighting for my place in it.
I was re-reading Raising Demons, one of Shirley Jackson’s books of humorous stories about her children, and I once again felt that it is exactly the kind of thing I should be writing. But do I have enough funny stories? Lately I haven’t even felt like blogging, and what is this if not the perfect practice for that very genre?
In conclusion, I have no conclusion.