So, I’m looking here at the text for mainly prose stories that I’m going to add in to More Heresies. You can’t see me shaking my head in frustration with myself. Nor can you see all 17 thousand words, at least yet. You don’t hear me wondering, “Why on earth do I do this to myself?”
What exactly is it that I do to myself? No, it’s not tatoos or anything nearly so painless. It’s trying to keep myself to a self-imposed word limit. I told myself when I finished this book that I was going to stop at page 400, by hook or by crook. It didn’t matter if I was in mid-sentence or not. Yet, 100 pages (roughly) over my limit, I’m trying to tell myself to quit.
The problem is that most of the great stories and poems don’t come until AFTER I hit the word limit. Therefore, I just want to add them to this book. That further delays its final draft and publication, as well as my frustration. It means I can’t move on to finish other projects. But enough whining. Just know that some really awesome stories and poems are already well under way for the next collection, entitiled Out of Purgatory. Maybe I won’t die before I finish it. Whatever I have written for More Heresies is finished. And that’s final, Self! I don’t wanna hear no more back-talking!
Now, if i could just finish proofreading the last bit this weekend, although I know for a fact that it will have to be another week…