I suppose the pain in my lungs is a sign that I needed more rest. Alas, I am going to work again and eating a big "I Told You So" if I get pneumonia again. Actually, that is what it feels like I am getting, but it all ties in to my writing.
Given my current state, in my nerdy novel mode of thought, it occurred to me that in the post-apocalyptic novel I am writing, that is how Alan breathes all the time, labored, painful, with no relief. That also puts low-class boys at a disadvantage when they fight because obviously they can't exert themselves like the girls who have been genetically altered, if they can afford it. This all sounds like a bunch of gobbledygook (I had to spell check that one), but it makes sense within the context.
I have also been so busy with the holidays and now packing and moving like a maniac, I forgot to reach out to the editor of Down South where the Water is Warm. I should really pay him half of what I said I would to motivate him, and I have the funds to do so. I can’t wait to get his feedback, but he has most of December anyway because I have to grade and unpack. He is either commenting on the stories as he goes, or he is going to read the whole thing and then comment. Either way is good for me, but I suppose both ways of reading have their merits because I am not opposed to rearranging the order of the stories, except that the first one has to be first because it is the title of the collection. I also plan on keeping the Realism and Magical Realism/Fantasy separate.
Well, that is all my lungs will allow. If you have time, read my novel excerpt from my previous post and offer thoughtful comments.
Here’s to life and real crisis. May both enrich your art.