The startling discovery of today’s early morning writing session was this — in my original draft of “The One About Ian” I used the font Times New Roman instead of Courier New, which is what I’ve been using on the newer stories. So, when I was all excited that I’d get “Ian” down to under fifteen pages I was thinking in terms of pages typed in Times New Roman, which is not the font I want to be submitting in. Upon my conversion of the document from Times New Roman to Courier the original piece went from seventeen pages to twenty-four. When I was finished cutting it was down to nineteen — two more pages than I’d started out with.
This is okay, I guess. My problem is that I really feel I’ve allowed my stories to go on too long as of late. I think it’s that hidden novelist in me trying to get out. I have that dramatized family history idea in the back of my mind and maybe my subconcious is trying to tell me to get cracking on it. The trouble is that, and my subconcious doesn’t seem to want to hear this, I have to devote my fiction writing time to the stuff I’m handing in for class now. Right now I don’t have time for a novel.
I do have time to write this journal and work on the screenplay with JonMartin though. Let’s not tell my subconcious about that. I don’t want the voices in my head starting a bar brawl, okay?
And, I do have time for a weekend intensive class this weekend. I don’t have any idea how I’m going to make it through. I’m already tired on Wednesday and I get no breaks whatsoever until next weekend. I go to work tomorrow and Friday and then to class on Friday evening, Saturday, and Sunday, and then back to work on Monday. I’m going to be one hurting puppy by the end of it.
Then again, I asked for this, didn’t I?