- I finished a poem that's been hanging over me for six months or more. Which is not my usual thing, but now I have to go send it to the New Yorker or something.
- I got a note from Ed Greenwood about the Realms and Open Design, which rocked my world. Gotta decide how to share it with the patrons.
- I wrote a Dungeoncraft column today and told my barista about it (because he asked). I'm usually the silent type, but the new coffeeshop is prying me out of my shell. So glad I ditched the old one. Switching your regular mocha-slingers in Seattle is a little like changing denominations, I gather. But the barista at Sureshot is happy to talk about Euroboardgames or werewolves, and the music includes both punk girl bands and Neko Case. What's not to love?
I also ate a certain amount of writerly spinach, making a shift in my writer's kit today. That is, I added a new notebook/composition book to the book bag, and at the same time, I transferred hundreds of tiny fluttering bits of paper into the notebook. I can't function as a writer without jotting down phrases on library slips, sticky notes, and the backs of envelopes.
No, I cannot just write the notes down in the notebook in the first place. That would be wrong.
In any case, my own inefficiencies aside, the noteling system works for me for one simple reason. When I'm feeling down or uninspired (or, as today, lacking sufficient sleep), I dig into the big pile of paper and sift through them. There's dozens or hundreds to choose from on a day like today, when I've ignored the notes for a while. The right words on bits of tatty paper always completely jots me back into the time and place when that was the Best. Idea. Ever. And I get excited to write, even if it means I'm writing, say, poems and fiction.
Better still, today's notes reminded me of the fiction I've been ignoring. So, I'll rattle that novel or novella around, with a deadline around .... Er, September. Eight months for a novel seems reasonable.
Oh, and it's Albrecht Haushofer's birthday today.