A Day of Fishing

I took my son fishing for only the second time in his life today (I'm ashamed to say). We were unsuccessful. It's clearly time to venture out to a more serious lake (or perhaps the ocean), rather than the local man-made lakes we've hit so far.

Building a Better Structure

Yesterday, thanks to the encouragement of a very capable writer friend (and after a several-month-long detour), I became a member of an online flash fiction critique group. It's a group limited to 70 members, and it has a very disciplined structure. As a member, I'm required to submit one story a month and critique four others.

Based on the limited experiences I've had with flash fiction this year (some of which I've documented in earlier posts), I expect to learn a lot. The requirement to stay engaged with consistent critique--and to routinely produce new material--should have wonderful side-effects beyond improving my skills.

As a man who claims to love writing, a large part of me believes, at some barely conscious level, that inspiration--and wonderful stories--should flow without a battle. But the truth is, I'm happy to have some external encouragement to produce stories.


An aside: Groups like this would be a particularly great outlet for writers who can't find others to commune with in their own hometowns.

Languor

passing car

I'm working--without nearly enough vigor--on my novel still. Waiting for the publication of a piece of flash fiction that came in second in a contest for an online lit magazine (I'm avoiding mentioning the details here until it's actually out in the world so I don't risk jinxing the thing).

Unfortunately, the children's book I want to write is continually nipping at my heels, demanding attention I don't want to give it until my current novel is out in the world.