Today I'm too distracted to read. I'm still in that tangle of pulleys, ropes, draperies, and dust that I yanked down on my head when I decided to retreat back to the desktop and try to determine what I really wanted from being a writer. While giant ballads bellow from my speakers, I'm looking for something that might have gotten lost, something that all that hot air will reveal when the pretensions and self-pity have floated up from the floor.
Actually, what I want to do is come up with a plan for turning our Tuesday writer's group at B&N into a functional and effective comment group. I find that having a place where I can speak to others who care about words and books as much as I do is a great way to keep myself motivated at times when I can't seem to figure out why I'd add one more damn word to the surfeit of those available.
I like watching snippets become narratives become stories become novels. I like being around people who take the things that they have to say seriously. Approaching a bare story-telling competency and relearning things that I used to know are parts of that experience. The challenge is to decide where this should be fitted to action or allowed to fade with time.
Guess I'll rehitch myself to Black Deer and get back to being a draft horse. :)