wednesday night in Boston

It’s almost 11pm on a Wednesday and I’m installed at the big Harvard Square Starbucks with my novel-in-progress and an abysmal cup of coffee. (Like, abysmal. WTF, Starbucks.) Kidbro has apparently made it safely back to the US from Asia and I’ll be heading to the airport soon to pick him up. Meanwhile, I’m eavesdropping on conversations about Steve Jobs and trying to write.

This thing I’m working on may end up being the shortest “novel” I’ve ever written. Also possibly the first first draft I finish in a dozen years, so… hmmm to that. Perhaps something for me to learn.

I’m tired. I keep thinking I’ll grow out of the days when I want to sleep til noon, but apparently not. Thank goodness for energy drinks, man.

 

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One thought on “wednesday night in Boston

  1. Maybe it’s all the Jane Yolen and Lois McMaster Bujold in my life right now, but there’s nothing wrong with novellas and short stories. Allow yourself to write shorter things; some of those things might grow into novels, but they don’t *have* to, and they are no less a story for that.

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