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Too many motherfucking words

Yeah, that's right. Up since 4am, critiquing six stories clocking in at 41,000 words. Workshop will run from 8am to probably sometime after 2pm today. I've missed dinner three nights in a row, and I have a migraine. Haven't written one original word since handing in the flash story.

If I'm going to write going forward, it's become painfully obvious that I'll have to cloister myself off completely - no outings with other Clarionites, no long conversations and/or networking, no walking around campus staring at baaaby ducks. Just a whole fuckton of solitude, trying to keep my head above water as I go through all these stories. My first obligation is NOT to writing my own work, but to critiquing what's handed in. And the only way I can create time to write my own stuff is by cutting myself off from anything that eats up my time - including blogging. This isn't how I wanted it to be here, and I'll no doubt come off as some stuck-up bitch in the process, but that's the way it's got to be.

Tags:

Marine Autumn

I owe you marine autumn
With dankness at its roots
and fog like a grape
and the graceful sun of the country;
and the silent space
in which sorrows lose themselves
and only the bright crown
of joy comes to the surface.

--Pablo Neruda.


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