Fundamentally, I'm just lazy. I should just leave it at that, right? Last night I realized that one of the ideas that's been kicking around in my head for years might finally have found the right narrative voice to carry it forward. I should be grabbing notes, rewriting scenes, and otherwise just plowing forward through the new novel, right?
This morning, however, I'm more concerned about the tomatoes. Why are they still green? Why aren't any of them red yet? I'm okay with growing a zucchini bush specifically to feed the bugs (hope they're all struggling with insectile obesity), but I'm ready for a tomato. It's Memorial Day (almost)! There will be burgers that need tomatoes!
And my novel? It just reminds me that last night I got a bit too involved in offering comments on someone else's novel and I think I crossed a line. It's difficult to separate out the Reader from the Writer sometimes and the Reader...she's a bit of an opinionated witch. A witch who likes to lecture. I'm sorry to say that I got a wee bit heated, a little didactic, and then, when my comments didn't seem to be clear, a bit frustrated. Because there's nothing like someone else's frustration to inspire others, right? Now I'm sitting at my desk and wondering if I should take a break from commenting for a time.
It's hard to say whether I'm becoming hard on others because I've reached such an impasse myself and wish someone would take a pen and eviscerate what I've got so that I understand where I am or because I'm becoming impatient with certain types of drafts. Either way, there's no excuse for setting yourself up as a tinpot expert and letting your mouth run away with you. I'm sorry.