I have less than 2 months left, officially. While it will drag by it will also rush past--I know this.
I tried to gain some clarity today about this hummingbird piece. There has to be a big picture; I feel like it is at the tip of my tongue. The essay isn't about nothing. But it's obviously not clear, all of my readers want more plot. (I am a little afraid of the "writing by committee" that supposedly happens in MFA programs--it is hard enough for me to carve out anything interesting on my own, will workshops kill what vision I have? This is a rehash of the artschool-deja vu-fear, but it's in there.) I made some notes, thought in circles. I've been struggling with this thing since last summer. That might be crazy, right? I mean at some point I have to let it go, don't I, if clarity doesn't appear?
Words I abuse: really, just, only. I have to modify everything! It's all either really great, or just a small thing. And all the damn time: I think. No one cares how much I think except me, apparently. Oh! And apparently.
I'm too grouchy for this. There are too many work, traffic, TV & sugar distractions right now. I can't fucking think.