… the more ideas come to you. In the same vein, energy creates energy. Or, to take it even further, writing generates more writing.
Self, where exactly are you going with this?
It is Saturday. A mile or so away from where self sits, the Redwood City Farmers Market is just starting up.
Last night, the garden was noisy with the sound of son and Kramer, bent over the fondue pot. This pot is an extremely homely one that was a wedding present to self and hubby and is so grimy and small it can barely fit 10 forks of anything. But every time self thinks she ought to move up to a shiny stainless steel fondue pot that costs at least $50, she ends up sticking with the grimy old one. (Perhaps age enhances flavor, or perhaps this is yet another example of self’s endless rationalizations!)
Self now thinking back on Thursday’s workshops at the Foothill Writers Conference, and she realizes they were fun. A handful of people showed up for her first, on flash fiction, and an even smaller number for her fiction manuscript workshop. But the two who got to have their manuscripts discussed for an hour were extremely lucky, for self went in there with a scalpel and pulled out all manner of ideas.
Now, self thinks she ought to start preparing for her fall workshop at NDNU on writing the memoir. Marc Wolterbeek let her have two successive Saturdays in September. The class will count for one unit. YAY!!! Self can hardly wait.
