It's supposed to happen when you're having fun so I must be - having fun that is. My story is burned to disc so it's too late to change anything - like the title, the beginning, the ending. As a result of that and doing yesterday's four crits much later than my usual bedtime my eyes are like sandpaper this morning. The whole thing was exacerbated by not sleeping well. I kept waking up to what sounded like something enormous breathing wetly in the apartment above. Hmm. Does that sound like a story?
I've been reading too much M.R. Martin from the book of ghost stories given me by Kelly Link, our Week Three tutor. She generously presented us all with books she loves herself and thought we might too. I haven't really had much time to read for pleasure while I've been here because of the crit demands. I usually grab one of the tutor's short story collections and read a story or two while I'm eating - unless there's someone to chat to. But while I was ill I had such difficulty concentrating that a collection of well written Edwardian ghost stories was just what I needed. As an indication of how sick I was, a book like this, which is thick and dense with detail, would normally take me maybe four or five hours in total to read, and I still haven't finished it.
I had been playing with the idea of submitting two stories this week before I was laid low and obviously that won't happen now but I think I'll try to do it next week. This means no break for a couple of days before I get writing and because I have no ideas yet - although I have a killer final line that I've been trying to make a story to fit for the last two weeks - it may never happen. But these spurs are good for you - aren't they?