My cave drabble. I learned something about myself writing it.
There are two caves in her mind. One is the warm welcoming place where she would like to be able to bring her friends and loved ones to protect them when she feels they need protecting.She pictures the firelight flickering on the cave walls and herself smiting enemies with a big pointy stick.
The other cave isn’t a choice, but a sentence. When she is depressed and rejected, it is hers. Empty, cold, and far from the hearing of others, it is the place where she ventures forth seldom, hair in tangles, wearing the one rag somebody thought to toss in there.When she is sad; this feels right, like destiny.
erika, that's - yep.
One of my favourite novels was written in the thirties, called The Chinese Room. The title referred to that place in everyone's soul where, in the end, no one else ever gets to go, no matter how frantically we wave them in.
The ultimate cave.
Any librarians reading? Booklist review is out today, page 35.
Dang, and Greg's offsite somewhere. He can't get to it.
I just finished my rough draft.
It's a strange feeling, at once triumphant and bereft. And I feel like the real work is still to come--editing it until it's the best I can make it, querying agents and editors, in general doing all I can to find it a home.
But I did it. I've written two books. That's something, right?
Definitely something. Congrats, Susan!
Whohoo! Congratulations, Susan! Good work!
Susan, that's awesome! Just let it rest a bit before you dive into edits.
t /my two cents
