Press On

I’m woefully inconsistent for this blog thing. There are events happening in my life but I don’t feel like writing about them.

I woke up in the middle of the night and heard an owl hooting. I liked it. I thought of him sitting there patrolling for rats and mice. It was comforting to hear.

I’m reading O Pioneers, by Willa Cather, finally a book written by a woman I can appreciate. There was that other book about bee’s written by Kid something. She’s a good writer. I didn’t finish the book. I’ve been meaning to get back to it.

I’ve been working on the short story, re-working some stuff. That’s the process re-work until it feels right. They almost never feel right. I could spend my whole life re-working my stuff. Good ideas turn sour the longer you let them sit. But it’s the process. It’s almost as if you get more intelligent by letting it sit for a while. It’s interesting how one day you think your writing is good and the next you see it’s limitations. Time brings insight. I wonder why that happens, or how it happens. One day you’re smart, the next you’re a dull average being. I’m glad I can see the difference, sometimes intelligence is no-more then knowing your limitations, but even then you have to press on.