Neil Gaiman is my favorite author. A friend of mine read a bit of my fiction and insisted I read everything Gaiman had ever or would ever write. I listened, and read American Gods, which immediately became my favorite book. (I've been attempting to Nook it for a while now, but I just never feel up to the task.)Neil won the Newbery award this week for his newest piece The Graveyard Book. This morning I listened to an interview on NPR and I was super charged with the NEED to write. So I tossed on my coat and rushed to the library. Discovered a new spot with sunlight and a beautiful view of the mini-Romanesque courtyard and the HUGE church. And I wrote. And I finished Milk and Honey.
It's 11 pages, and though I'm still in the polishing process, I'm pleased with it. It's a somewhat dark story, though the telling covers up some of the darkness. It's a strange thing to write, to know the things my character tries to hide, and to have their memories. It's harder than I thought to get these thoughts on paper. Not the effort of choosing the right words, it's the pain of these memories.
I've been moving my stuff to my new interim location. I'm homeless, but I have a warm place to sleep, so I'm happy. I have amazingly good luck with apartments, and I'm sure I'll have an amazing place for pretty cheap before too long. It's one of my super powers. :-)
Jason stopped by for dinner and to get his stuff, and Janos is coming over soon to pick up his key. My room is starting to look empty, and I like it. I'm going to send home a bunch of my stuff. I packed for two years, and will only be staying 4 more months. I want to fit my life into one suitcase again. :-)
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