My college class (a Harvard Extension Class called Advanced Fiction: Writing the Middle Grade and Young Adult Novel) has got me thinking about things that I'm not at all sure I should be thinking about -- like mainstream publication. I mean, isn't that what appeals to my ego? It's as if I don't count as a writer (or as a person) unless a big, societal machine approves of me. I'm always intrigued by people who don't want fame and fortune. I definitely admire them as greater souls than I.
That's part of why I love Norma Bates as if she were my best friend and not a fictional character. She only wants to live an ordinary life, run her little hotel business, and be left alone. That humility makes me want to give her the world -- or at least the hot sheriff.
What am I really doing here? I should be writing, so I'm writing to avoid writing. So I'm erasing almost all of this nonsense and getting back to work.
That's part of why I love Norma Bates as if she were my best friend and not a fictional character. She only wants to live an ordinary life, run her little hotel business, and be left alone. That humility makes me want to give her the world -- or at least the hot sheriff.
What am I really doing here? I should be writing, so I'm writing to avoid writing. So I'm erasing almost all of this nonsense and getting back to work.
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