I enjoy baking. Someday I would like to make a wedding cake. Or at least, I labor under the delusion that I would enjoy that. Apparently it is a multi-day process and very complicated and should only be attempted by people that know what they are doing. Which rules me out.
At the moment, I have bread dough rising in a nice little round lump. Soon, I will pop a pizza stone in the oven and let the pre-heating action begin. And, eventually, I should have a beautiful golden brown loaf of Vermont cheddar bread that tomorrow I will turn into the basis of heartbreakingly lovely bacon tomato sandwiches (I do not go for the l in blts—I don’t like lettuce).
This is not a lead up to a metaphor about writing, I just like talking about baking.
There is light at the end of the tunnel, maybe. Either that or I’ve spent so long in the tunnel that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness and that’s tricked me into thinking it’s getting brighter. I’ve gone through most of my manuscript and made edits. Now, I need to go through the rest and then read over the thing as a whole more quick like so that I can consider it as a whole.
I’ve also found some residencies that I may apply to. One of them is rather intimidating though and states that it is for “serious artists” only. So we shall see.
Been reading bits and pieces—trying to not fall in love with anything as I plow through the manuscript but also really missing that feeling of just sinking into a book.