In college, I was an art major. I made art on a daily basis and yet somehow I was not an art-y person–something that I had long suspected and was verified when someone said that I seemed more like a business major. I was not spontaneous or fun-loving and I tended to wear boring clothes in boring colors. So, not super arty.
However, I feel that I might fit the writer-y profile better. I am quiet, enjoy being by myself and at times loathe both myself and humanity. I probably don’t drink enough but I think we can round up and say that I am in the correct ballpark personality wise. This gives me way more comfort than it ought to.
Speed read through a manuscript. Trying to figure out whether to do major upheaval or just fix some smaller things and send it back for more feedback. I think I’ll do the latter. Big scale change can be a good idea but in this case, I think it is more of a fear of giving it back. I spend half my time craving feedback and the other half avoiding it.
Made some additions to another manuscript–can’t figure out to get in character thinking while still doing things. Perhaps this is a personal flaw as well? Can only do or think? Not both? Troubling.
Reading notes: Finished Turtle Diary which I greatly enjoyed. So many good lines. So good, period. I may start Number9Dream next but I find it hard to read David Mitchell without feeling overwhelmed by my abject inferiority.