Joe! Joe! Joe! Joe!

In a few minutes, I depart for the Whiskey Roadhouse, thereat to once again partake in the goodness that is Joe Bonamassa, The Greatest Guitarist Alive (TM).

This will be something like my sixteenth Joe show.  Friends and family will be attending, as well.  Should be an excellent time.  It’s been over a year since Joe’s been here.

If you’re local and looking for something absolutely amazing, come on out.  If you’re not local, check the tour dates at the webpage for a venue near you.

That is all.

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Progress Report, in which I demonstrate my extremely keen sense of hearing

Another 4600 words on the Halloween story, resulting in a first draft.  Magic Meter says,

Observant readers will notice that I have moved the goalposts again.  I needed to bring this thing in under 7.5K in order to submit it to the Codex Halloween Contest.  So now I have two days to cut at least 1500 words.

Starting now.  Sorry, no time for wit and erudition.

(And in case you’re wondering–yeah, I can hear your smartass comments from here:  "What?  You mean there’s supposed to be wit and erudition in Rotundo’s progress reports?  You don’t say!")

<Insert snappy comeback line here, sprinkled with appropriate profanity.>

<Insert snappy sign-off line here.  Profanity optional.>

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Progress Report, in which I engage in perversion

Got back to work on the Halloween story, and managed 4K words.  Magic Meter says:

Alert readers may have noticed that the goal has increased somewhat.  As I mentioned previously, my original goal was more like wishful thinking.  This thing wants to be a novel, I think.  But the overall limit for the Codex Halloween Contest is 7500 words, so that’s what I’m shooting for.  I think I can take a significant chunk off the beginning, so that should help–assuming I finish this in time to spend a few days revising.  The deadline’s October 1st.

It hasn’t helped my productivity any that I’ve been suffering a crisis of confidence with this one.  But then, I had a similar problem with my last Halloween story, and that one turned out all right.  So I’ll press on with it, and consequences be damned.

You know, it’s funny.  In a recent post, I noted that 2008 has been a very good writing year for me.  I’ve written the first draft of a novel, made some significant sales, and won a pretty major award in the field.  And I still have another quarter of the year to go.  You would think I’d be ready to take on the world at this point.

Instead, I have lately found myself plagued with self doubt.  I’m convinced at the moment that Petra Released is nowhere near as good as Petra.  My short story inventory is depleted, so the prospect of any more major sales is unlikely, at least in the near future.  And writing awards don’t count for much when you’re starting a new story and staring down that same blank page you faced the last time out.

The only way to beat back the doubts, of course, is to write.  Which I’ve spent the last week proving to myself . . . again.

Perverse, what we writers inflict on ourselves, ain’t it?

Yeah.

No updates for Write Club.

Outta here . . .

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