There is more going on these days than could be imagined. Rather dream-like if the truth be told.
A new baby (my first). A new novel (my third). My wife still loves me, my family still puts up with me, and the writing is going well. What is there, really, to complain about?
There is a big difference between being a writer and being a writer with a child. I see that now. Every sentence counts now in a way it did not before. Not in a creative way, no, I do not mean like that. Creatively, every sentence has always mattered. Creatively speaking, every sentence is all there is. The succession of sentences and structure is all that matters.
What I mean is that every sentence counts from an output perspective. It becomes a matter of "So, you still wanna write for a living? It's easy to live on the sly when you are single and flexible, not so much with wife and child. SO, if you wanna write and make this a career, then you need to produce. You need ideas on paper and you need to refine them. You need more words and more ideas and more preciseness, more energy, less tell and more show.
Produce. Produce more. Polish. Polish. Produce and Polish.
I am busier and more stressed than ever, but it is an amazing time as well. Busy and stressed do not sound like they could possibly mix together into happiness but, in a pleasant turn of events, this time they do.
I am pretty fucking happy.
Anchors No More is literally around the corner.
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