I was determined this morning to work out, and not do my fakeout workout either. A fakeout workout as I define it is when I go to the gym with all plans and promises, and then get lazy and get off the treadmill after say about a mile, 1/2 of which is usually spent walking, slow. Today, I got real with myself and ignored all mutterings and whinings same as my trainer ignores me when I complain and cry. I set a goal of around the block 3 times which translates roughly to 3 miles. It was painful and I walked and my feet hurt and my legs ached and it was dusty. But I made it. Slow as a camel trekking through the hot desert sun but I made it and I felt so proud of myself. I have been high all morning. I cant wait to do it again!
Last time I discussed my writing, I was moaning about how overwhelmed I felt about editing. Well, this past week I stopped whining and consulted my expert researcher Ms/Mr Google - s/he is an hermaphrodite- and discovered a nifty book called Self Editing for Fiction Writers by Renni Browne and Dave King. This book is so on fire that it impacted my writing before I even received it. How do I mean? Well, I read an excerpt of the first chapter online and realized what was wrong with my own first chapter right away. In a word -well several words- I was explaining too much and not letting the characters live. I was giving all kinds of background and history and what not. A whole lot of info that had me saying in my nephew's voice: "who cares?" I guess the avid reader in me knew the problem all along, but the writer in me resisted deleting a single word. I mean those words were agonized over and carefully chosen by committee. I was loathe to let even one of them go. But I ...
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