So said Albert Camus.
I couldn't agree more. When I found I had time on my hands during the day, I took a chance and emailed a local paper asking if I could write for them.
I crafted my query letter carefully and sent it off, thinking I'd never hear from them.
Next day, the editor wrote back, saying he had an assignment for me, do I take photographs.
Sure, I wrote back.
That meant I had to master taking photos with my quirky Kodak.
Made a trip to my son's house so he could help me.
All went well when I interviewed Lynne Whitsel.
Because I needed to squeeze article-writing time into my schedule, I was more efficient than usual. Our brains are wired to work. My brain likes to work at least 10 hours a day, with naps in between.
So, I began working on my novel at a more ferocious pace -- popcorn sustains me, when I write -- and I finished the first revision on Monday before midnight.
What a relief. I actually like the novel. When I don't like what I read, I say, How can I make this more interesting to myself? My teacher puts check-marks on parts she likes. I've excised whole sections that I don't like.
I sent my teacher a note on Facebook - it seems less intrusive than sending her an email - and I told her my progress and that she was right about the need to flesh in my Quito-born character who I'm terribly in love with.
I wandered senselessly all around town last nite searching for Angel Guerrero. What's a lovesick author to do?