I Gots The Cedar Fever
It's hard for me to do any writing right now. Central Texas, where, against all predictions, I continue to live, has been consumed by vast, evil clouds of juniper pollen, which creates a flu-like condition called cedar fever. My muscles ache at all times, my chest feels like it's full of glue, and my brain is about as sharp as a cantaloupe left out in the sun for a long weekend.
That said, I've begun work on my third short story of the young year. This one is called Brother Elk, a tale of a young woman in a town very much like Austin who decides to join the local Elks Lodge because that's what all the cool kids are doing. Her choice comes back, if not to haunt, then at least to bother her. I should have a draft done by the end of this week, though Ford knows when and if it will be published. My agent has told me that short fiction is hard to sell. Thanks for the encouragement, Sy! (His name isn't really Sy). As a side note, I wrote 1,000-plus words of the story today while I was waiting for my car to get serviced. This, if nothing else, should indicate that I am now deeply committed to the art of fiction.
I'm back to not quite square one, sending unsolicited manuscripts and query letters to any major glossy that publishes short stories, praying that people don't realize that this so-called serious fiction was written by the guy who once wrote a hit-job on Bob Hope for Slate. A good friend emailed me recently, criticizing my excitement about getting published in the Mississippi Review, a publication that only exists to serve a tiny circle of readers. But it is a good publication, and besides, it's not about where the story gets published. It's about the process of writing. My goal this year is to practice in the short form as much as possible. Hopefully, that can actually lead to a check. If not, I'll be emailing you all a finished copy of Brother Elk in June.
And now, though it is only 9:11 PM, I sleep, for the cedar fever has penetrated my brain. Help. I'm turning into a plant.