I'm revising a novel, is what I'm doing these days. Actually, most of the revisions were finished last year; what I'm doing now is typing up all of those red-ink-done-by-hand revisions into the Word document on my laptop. When that's finished, I will read through the whole thing again, have Mighty Reader take it for a turn as well, and then off go a hundred query letters to literary agents, in the hope that one of these agents will represent the book and sell it to a publisher and I'll have a second novel out at long long last. We'll see how that goes.
This all means, I suppose, that I'm back to being a novelist. I have another book in draft form, something I finished earlier this year I think, that needs to be revised and shopped around to agents, but I have developed a method over the years for delaying revisions as long as I can, in order to forget as much as possible about the novel that I'll be revising. If that makes sense. Anyway, by my rules, I cannot start revising the drafted novel (Nowhere But North, for you scorekeepers) until I have another novel in draft form, which means that I need to write something. So I guess that means I'll start writing another novel this winter. Which is fine; I have a novel in mind. I actually began writing something new a year or more back, so I can just go ahead and finish that. I'm calling it, provisionally, Hilltop Stories, because it's a collection of linked stories set in a fictional Colorado town called Hilltop. There's a murder mystery of sorts that threads the stories together in a loose manner. I think it'll be pretty good. Or at least interesting to write.
Which will be good for me, that interest in writing. I confess that I have not been exactly inspired of late with this blog. My thanks to Mr Mudpuddle for playing along recently. I did think the War and Peace post would get more comments. This blogging project continues to baffle me.
Also, I seem to have stopped trying to write poems, but I keep reading poetry and books about poetry. I'm about halfway through Mary Kinzie's The Cure of Poetry in an Age of Prose, recommended by Marly Youmans. I don't know most of the poets Kinzie refers to, which is a) humbling, and b) a good list of pointers to future reading. One of the poems Kinzie includes in her book that I find exceptionally fine is this one, by Archie Randolph Ammons:
Sometimes the ridge across
the way transluminous
emerges above the mist
and squares and detached rondures
of vapory ground with
dairy barns and old trees
break out afloat
separated in high lyings.