This should be for Big to tell, not me, but he doesn't blog each day anymore, and like the story goes, only I am escaped alone to tell the tale.
Last night, we recorded a full-cast story over a conference call with Marshal and Renee, and Big signed off as promptly as I would if I saw my neighbor's teenaged daughter in my backyard. He was tired and wanted to go to bed, so he says. But little did the man know that he was going to bed without having written his allotted words for the day . . . the first time in months, and certainly for the first time since I started doing it too.*
Oh, the shame! The regret! The self-loathing! The interest rates!
The only silver lining was that he had written a tiny bit earlier that day, having looked at a website that had prompts for Christmas stories in it, so he technically did write, just not his thousand words. He wants to write a couple of holiday tales so that he has enough for a Christmas story collection he can put out this year. I would normally say he'll never do it--neeeeeever!--but he's been great with his other goals this year (last night notwithstanding), so he may actually do this one.
Big told me what the prompt was he got from the book, and it is right up my alley: a Christmas ornament with magical properties. Hey, it might give me the chance to use this picture I took last December:
 |
| (an actual ornament I took a photo of) |
In fact, I ought to sit down and write something up for it myself instead of doing this blog. If I've managed 50,000 words of writing since this started, how many words of blogging would you say I've racked up? 25,000? Somewhere around there. Regardless, it would be neat to have another Broken Mirror project in common with Big, even if it disgruntles me to write a Christmas story this early in the year.
I jotted down the idea I had based on Big's prompt, but I can't count those words, because they don't add up to a finished story. In fact, based on how weak the bit I wrote down was, it might actually contribute to me NOT writing. But we'll see.
The sun is shining here at the park and it has to be the most beautiful day of the year. Or right up there, anyway. I owe it to myself to put this down and get some exercise, especially if this is going to be our lockdown week (we've been living on borrowed time as it is). I did the stairs, and as I am still dressed for fall (long sleeve, long pants), I am now covered in a sheen of sweat, which feels nice as the cool breeze blows, but I ought to get some shorts out and the summer t-shirts.
I was editing Chapter 14 of "You're In Good Hands," and I just kept falling asleep. Maybe six times. It's not really even that late, but I can't keep my eyes open.
Fudge it, I'm going to do my run. Maybe it will actually GIVE me energy instead of taking it from me.
And wow, it did. I feel like I can go the distance with Apollo Creed . . . 's dead body. Just no more writing, Mick.
Words Today: 608
Words In April: 6,468
Words Total: 94,047
P.S. Every day I'm posting one of these:
Day 7. "Thunder Road" by Bruce Springsteen. Man, do I love "Thunder Road." But I can never get the lyrics down, even though I've tried for fifteen years. There's a stretch in the middle of the song where I know all the words, but then it's all just gibberish to me. It doesn't help that they never play it on the radio. Never.
*Of course, I have it easier than him, because I don't have a set word count I'm supposed to bring in each day. Lots of times I go way over a thousand words, but sometimes, like today, I don't.
I jotted down the idea I had based on Big's prompt, but I can't count those words, because they don't add up to a finished story. In fact, based on how weak the bit I wrote down was, it might actually contribute to me NOT writing. But we'll see.
The sun is shining here at the park and it has to be the most beautiful day of the year. Or right up there, anyway. I owe it to myself to put this down and get some exercise, especially if this is going to be our lockdown week (we've been living on borrowed time as it is). I did the stairs, and as I am still dressed for fall (long sleeve, long pants), I am now covered in a sheen of sweat, which feels nice as the cool breeze blows, but I ought to get some shorts out and the summer t-shirts.
I was editing Chapter 14 of "You're In Good Hands," and I just kept falling asleep. Maybe six times. It's not really even that late, but I can't keep my eyes open.
Fudge it, I'm going to do my run. Maybe it will actually GIVE me energy instead of taking it from me.
And wow, it did. I feel like I can go the distance with Apollo Creed . . . 's dead body. Just no more writing, Mick.
Words Today: 608
Words In April: 6,468
Words Total: 94,047
P.S. Every day I'm posting one of these:
Day 7. "Thunder Road" by Bruce Springsteen. Man, do I love "Thunder Road." But I can never get the lyrics down, even though I've tried for fifteen years. There's a stretch in the middle of the song where I know all the words, but then it's all just gibberish to me. It doesn't help that they never play it on the radio. Never.
*Of course, I have it easier than him, because I don't have a set word count I'm supposed to bring in each day. Lots of times I go way over a thousand words, but sometimes, like today, I don't.
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