So far, this morning has been less than productive. I wonder, is it the post-reading feeling of calm? Is it the three previous mornings of rising well before dawn? Is it the empty house, children successfully breakfasted and clothed and shuffled off in their various ways to their various schools?
Whatever it is, I am not cutting with efficiency through my writing day. There are a few small edits to make on a few of the Juliet stories. Otherwise, I'm facing brand new projects. One is a bit like poetry, and can't bear more than an hour's concentration at a time. I am taking photos from the 365 project and pairing them with words. But I can't tell whether or not they're any good. The results have so far been rather koan-like. Mysterious. Do they bear scrutiny? How can I tell? Any visual artists out there willing to look and to comment?
My other projects are in the thinking stage. I have two ideas for two different novels. Yes, novels. Not stories. I know, it's so unlike me. But after reading Kate Atkinson's Left Early, Took My Dog, I have a hankering to write a mystery. It's an old hankering, actually. I have long admired the tidiness of mystery plotting. When I'm down and out, a mystery is what I turn to.
During my last yoga class, an entire plot plunked itself plain and simple into my brain. This is unprecedented. Characters plunk themselves into my brain. Emotions. Landscape. Props. The colouration of scenes. But the solidity of plot has never been my gift. So I am intrigued and curious to begin, and yet I think, not yet. I've jotted it down for later.
The other novel project is based on an older manuscript that I discovered when we cleared off a shelf in our bedroom. I couldn't stop reading it. It's funny and light and particular. It was written as entertainment, not to be deep. Which isn't saying it's superficial, just that it isn't The Juliet Stories. It isn't quite so literary. And it's really funny.
All these projects seem so different from what I've been working on. Scattered. I need to find focus. But maybe that's not what's meant to happen on this Friday morning. On this Friday morning, I'm treating myself to a second cup of coffee and a lazy happy drifting mind.
Labels: writing, writing day