Today is the second day of the SIP Writers Retreat. Haven’t heard of this retreat? Try Shelter-in-Place.
I always write more when attending some type of retreat or isolation. Confined to the house, my tasks (excuses) are significantly reduced. The Boss has forbidden my daily visits to breakfast places, Starbucks, and any other activity requiring travel beyond the driveway. I am allowed to pick up the newspaper.
Yesterday, I edited work from a few days ago. When it was perfect, I sent it to a writer friend in Oregon. I was hoping for, “it’s great,” instead it came back bleeding from MANY editorial comments. I called her and expressed my displeasure with her complete lack of comprehension of my masterpiece. I may have dropped an F-Bomb or two.
An hour or so after the call, I went back and examined her inflammatory comments. Out of kindness for her effort, I made over half the changes she suggested. Now, mind you, my work was masterful; I made the changes prop up her ego.
Then I wrote the scene where I kill off the second most popular character. I tried editing and rewriting the work—the writing sucks—big time.
Guess what—I sent it to Oregon.