the roads are covered in ice, every inch of ground a mess of white and brown snow. my thoughts seem as much lately. i tried to do an edit of bloodline V after i finished writing it, but reading through it was starting to make me sick. so very sick that i just had to stop. what was it jeff tweedy said: i shake like a toothache when i hear myself sing. yeah, i know what you mean. so i took a break to read through getting to perfect, which i penned this summer. but the stories are only so long, and then i am left with this emptiness once more. because all art is, really, is an attempt to fill a void. to ward off the loneliness. to fill up my thoughts with something...
decided to dig out some short stories i've worked on over the past few months. for the record, i am not much for writing short stories. i much prefer to pound out the first three chapters of a novel over a five page short story. but i digress, in the writing world you have to submit short stories. i don't make the rules, people, or even like them, but we're all in this together. [aren't we?] so out the short stories come. there was a flash fiction piece i wrote in the spring that i've been meaning to submit, and finally broke down and did that tonight. gotta pad that resume.
watching dmitri martin on netflix and looking forward to a short week. planning to spend my thanksgiving break tackling that cory doctorow novel that's been on my shelf for months now. ah, reading, a lost art.