SNL creator and producer Lorne Michaels famously said, "The show doesn't go on because it's ready; it goes on because it's 11:30." Recently I've been living by this motto more.
As I move forward with my first novel, I go with the motivation of a mental halfway mark. I'm reminded of nights in my dorm room, hammering out pages of fiction for classes that week, and being happy. I listened to my younger self, who said he wanted to be an author and an actor, and here I am at 23, actively chasing it.
I hate feeling stuck, and stuck doesn't have to mean at a dead stop. Stuck can mean bumbling along a cloudy path. Here are questions you can ask yourself to help:
"So, Linus, what do you do for a living?" I'd been here a thousand times, knowing that this potential relationship was already doomed. So, I decided to have fun with it. "I'm a freelancer. Kind of between jobs." She sipped her champagne. Her eyebrows leapt with a feigned spark of intrigue.
Here's what sprung to my mind when considering things to do on your day off.
I write because I want to be remembered. I want to tell grand stories that connect with a wide audience of readers.
When I took a moment to look back on that, I felt affirmed that while I'm not doing exactly what I want to do for paid work, I'm still doing it.
1. Trust yourself. 2. If you're not excited about your story, neither will your reader. 3. I support the Oxford Comma...
I guess at the moment I’m feeling nostalgic for my hometown. I’m proud to come from there and want kids growing up with similar aspirations to mine to see that it is possible.
“Here,” Mom said, sneaking ahead of me. She pushed the door open. Its hinge popped in intervals. The dark cabin felt stale and musty. Mom reached her hands into the shadowed threshold. “Everyone back up. Unless you want to be doused.” We shuffled against the cabin’s siding, clearing the way behind her. With a swoop of her hands, a low wind reverberated through the log home. Mom stepped out of the doorway as a pluming column of dust and cobwebs blew out of the cabin and settled over top nearby ferns. “Mind if I take the bed?” Melinda asked. Mom gestured to the doorway. “Please, by all means.”