Been working crazy hours lately. 54 hour weeks. Well, we got out an hour early today because we got all of our work done. I’m sore and tired by the end of the week, but it’s a good kind of sore and tired. Still, there’s so much to be done and so few hours in the week. Saturdays are the early days in at noon out at six (well, five today) and still have plenty of time to get stuff done.
Which brings me here. Laptop in lap. Fingers clicking away at the keyboard. Writing. Okay, so right now I’m actually writing this note to all of you, but still the clickity clickity that is my fingers tappity tapping away at the keys is the sound of writing, so it counts.
Besides, I am here to give y’all a writing update. See? So much writing stuff happening right now.
You might have noticed there’s been an increase in stories around here. You can check them out here or here. I’ve been feeling so creative lately. It’s nice to feel everything flowing again. Short stories are great for these really busy weeks. It helps me to keep those creative juices flowing without expecting too much from my overtaxed mind.
Keep your eyes peeled for more freeform stories.
Poetry's Limerick You don't often hear from me About my poetry Working through my feelings in verse Is actually quite the curse Of line upon rhyme of poesy ©2021 Tiffany Higgins
That was kind of fun. I recently came across a poem I’d written once upon a not too long ago. It got me to thinking. Thinking got me to researching. Researching landed me into submittable’s poetry section. There I discovered many like to see a collection of poems to choose from.
I’ve got poems around here. Poetry is how I cleanse my emotional self. And boy does my emotional self need cleaning sometimes. So I started gathering poems. Typing them up and making sure they look presentable. And, of course, trying to decide just exactly where it is I should submit them to.
Once Upon a Time in Iowa
Save the best for last. I know I was told that somewhere along the way. Mary and Jesse are humming along. Well, I guess it would be more honest to say that they are hitching along. I’ve got them in a wagon. Well, it’s a cart more than a wagon. They’re heading into town.
Bits and pieces were already written. I’ve got notes that tell me what to research. Notes that tell me where my ideas were heading. Notes that tell me I was already failing to get what I was seeking. Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty of useful parts. There are even a handful of really great scenes.
I’m loving the ladies chatting away in the back of the general store. But there’s a character I tried to write in. He’s just not quite fitting like I thought he might. I think it’s time to kill him before he even began. Not literally, of course. No need to slip a grizzly murder into the middle of a beautiful romance.
That trip to town is where my focus is at. The rewrite to make it fit with the story. The editing and tweaking until it flows. The research to fill in the gaps and replace the notes-to-self that act as placeholders. All for what will ultimately fit neatly into a couple (or few) chapters.
I’ve watched this Saturday tick by as I’ve been writing all of this down for you. I’ve watched the clock fly the minutes out the window as I’ve repeatedly set my computer aside to go deal with one household responsibility or another. I’ve finally made it to the end. To the part where I must say goodbye and get on with my writing plans.
My writing time seems to be only minutes in the hours and days that make up my life. It seems like whenever I find the time to write something or someone needs my attention and my keyboard must be left to shiver in the cold without me.
Each word, each paragraph, must be just perfect enough to keep those keys warm while I’m away. Each scene played out so perfectly that it stays with me after I’ve walked away. Moments in their time calling to me, drawing me back in, beckoning me to turn my attentions back to 1871.
If my words haunt me, if they leave me wanting more, if I can’t wait to see what happens next, then maybe just maybe they will keep the reader from being able to put the book down for even a moment.