I am in Vermont. It is beautiful and very green here, with an occasional hint of the colors that are to come. I am here to write, and the conditions are all aligned perfectly in support of that goal—which is both wonderful and terrifying since it means I’m robbed of all of my usual good excuses for not writing, or at least not writing as much as I ought to. I’m hoping that this time, this place, will force me to deal with some of the problems that I’ve been avoiding in some of my work—the enormous plot holes, the lack of tension, and (in some cases) the lack of any real ending.
Writing notes: See above.
Reading notes: I started and finished What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. It was a good, very quick, read. It was interesting to learn more about Haruki Murakami—I’ve read his Norwegian Wood and Kafka on the Shore and I’d like to read more of his work. It was rather comforting to learn about his quiet, steady and slightly antisocial routine: getting up early, working diligently and then going to bed early.