The Mind essay’s already gone, by the way. Two passes, a husband edit and BOOM, away it has been sent, to the people I don’t really need to read it any more, but hey. It has proved its worth not simply as the mental equivalent of a bowl of Bran Flakes, but as the physical manifestation of a rule I’d conveniently forgotten in the midst of my unhappy week: write what you know.
However hard I try, right now, an intellectual short story doesn’t exist within me.
Therefore, speculative fiction is my future, and this story won’t go the original place I thought it would. This is now going to end up somewhere else. A new story will take its place for the original, which isn’t speculative, but autobiographical, and that is how we beat this block.
I’ve already written the first piece, slightly ahead of my schedule, and it is sitting here ready for a visual (and not a screen) edit. The other piece is, I suppose about a quarter done, and should not take long to complete going forward. If I am smart, that could be double the planned number of stories for next week, which considering as of Monday there was effectively nothing…
Crucially, if I count my Mind entry as legitimate, that makes three short stories in March.