During my commute I’m listening to the audiobook of Lawrence Wright’s Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood, & the Prison of Belief. It’s fascinating. Before reading /listening, my knowledge of Scientology was fairly spotty, limited to a box of Hubbard books and DVDs my department received unsolicited during one of my previous jobs, The Master, and a single viewing of Battlefield: Earth. If the content wasn’t enough, the audiobook’s reader sounds a little like Robert Stack, which adds to the text the flair and suspense of an Unsolved Mysteries episode. I find myself mouthing along with the increasingly hilarious footnotes. “Footnote: the Church denies X, X, and X ever happened. End footnote” or “Footnote: X’s lawyers deny this event. End footnote.” Cue the theme!
So far, Short Story Month (known as June to the rest of the world) is going pretty well. I’ve finished one and three-quarters stories, and am starting on number three. I’m also taking advantage of the magic spreadsheet (link to said magic here), and hoo boy, is it enlightening and a little shaming to be confronted with my meager writings stats. But it’s incredibly motivating to have lurking in the background of my screen while I write, especially when I try to talk myself out of writing during lunch.
And speaking of that, Patricia Wrede has a post up about making time for writing:
Good lord, but is this a thing for me. When I was writing the first draft (and stripping/rewriting the second) of the Novel That Swamped Houston, I got my ass up at five o’clock every morning to write. This is it, I thought. I have actually trained myself to be a morning person! What I didn’t understand (because it’s hard to think while you’re simultaneously writing, drinking tea, and patting yourself on the back) was how much my exceedingly delicate, easily-alterable circumstances at that moment encouraged this schedule. Those circumstances included: minimal work commute on the bus, a low-maintenance job that did not require much of my brain (though just enough that story daydream/planning wasn’t feasible), and no dog. All of those things have changed. So now I write on my lunch break, and record any whimsy that comes to mind during my commute on my little Sansa clip.
Gateways by everyone
Camilla by Madeleine L’Engle