Ben told me to update and so here goes:
Not a lot to say, except the Cubs won the division (yay) and my friend Amitabh had a short film uniquely titled The Art of Stalking win the award for Best Short at the Boston Film Festival. Congrats to him.
I'm sick and working lots of overtime right now (the perfect combination) but I did FINALLY get new glasses after a years of questing. The stars are now tiny round dots again and not fuzzy halfway hairy things of blue and silver. I'm reading Francine Prose's Reading Like A Writer which is a very good 'How To' book without being a 'How To' book. Her central point in the book is that there is no how-to when it comes to writing. There are ways of seeing, and it's simply (well...) a matter of choice. That's my problem. I cannot choose. I feel like I can deploy a certain style or tactic of writing to one degree of success or another, but I never know what is right for me or the story I'm working on. It results in endless revision and endless second guessing. Part of the problem is I have no one there to act as my conscience. No Spock. No Willow. No Scooby. I'm working in a vaccum as I was before college and I fear the results are essentially the same. The writing is much more skillful and knowing, but it's aimless. I lie awake in worry some nights this whole enterprise will simply wash ashore as driftwood some place in a future of deadening, numbing 40 hour work weeks and nights in front of the TV watching reruns of sitcoms to dull the senses, and I will not know how I got there, or remember what brought me to it.