Seriously, how could he not? I don’t think that I’ve written a single creative work this week. Some blog posts, a few emails. I paid bills and entertained old friends and my father came to visit. But My Demonic Demon Novel: A Novel About Those Darn Demonic Demons! (or, you know, whatever I’ll call it) is lying dead in the water. Oh, I submitted some Tweet stories. Those were fun.
My submissions count is 22. 22, I kid you not! I’m struggling. I want to write things of quality and *gasp* length. I’m dissatisfied with my casualness toward some of my pieces. But when I say, “Write better, fool!” my brain rebels and flips me off. It has been sent to the corner to think about what it has done.
I watched The Secret of Nimh with my children today. I remember when I discovered that it wasn’t only a cartoon, but it was a book first! There was so much magic in that moment. I had to special order it from the library, and I tore into it like a starving woman. I looked up The Secret of Nimh today and found out that the Mrs. Brisby (“Frisby” in the book) was Elizabeth Hartman’s last role before she (allegedly) flung herself from a fifth story window. This saddens me very much. I’m gong to rent A Patch of Blue and remember her.