Weekends are often dicey when it comes to writing. But these past two days I've spent the bulk of the evenings making strides on book proposals and essays I intend to place in 2011. It's not much of a life, sitting at home on a Friday night hunkered over a 40-watt bulb making revisions to a 35-page manuscript on a 14-year-old computer monitor that often sparks into flame (literally). I blow out the monitor like a candle flame and keep working. For some reason, the monitor just keeps chugging along. I fully intend to eek one more book out of it. Just one more!
I also wrote my agent (I like saying "I wrote my agent") on Saturday morning, assuring her that, yes, help is on the way and I am intending to give her a pile of new books in 2011.
Looking back on this year, I didn't have a single book-length manuscript published--an anomaly for me in the past 12 years--but who knows . . . in 2011 I might have several books to produce.
Until then, a writer must write. A writer must produce. Every day. Even on the weekends.
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