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Wednesday, April 9, 1997, 2:16 a.m.
It's late. It early. I'm trying to do the journal thing again.
I can hear the wind rattling against the outside of the house. Either that or we have creatures in our walls.
The fan creaks and whirrs of the bed. The sound of traffic on I-95 is ubiquitous. Would I be able to sleep without it?
I finally wrote today. It's slower going on the rewrite, since I'm trying to do a good job (no, a great job), so I can catch a professional's eye.
Meanwhile, other than write, what shall I do? Keep a goin'.
Wednesday, April 9, 1997
I showed latest revisions to Rick. He seems to like them, complimenting me in joking, halfhearted style, then telling me they suck, also joking. Who knows? The mere fact that I write it is enough for him. I doubt that he has any real opinions. If he does, he's not saying.
Thursday, April 10, 1997
The more I work on the revisions, the better I feel about the story. I just wish I could work on them faster.
Tomorrow, I do some planting. I have a lot of work to do in the yard. I hate to take any time away from writing, but that's the way it is. I need to look at it philosophically. This is the time of year to plant, weed, etc. I have a small window of opportunity when it comes to planting. I need to do it and get it over with. And I still have plenty of time to write.
I need to figure out what to do about thatcomputer course. Take it? Not take it? I don't know.
