I'm sitting on my patio enjoying a corona and typing by the light of my citronella candle. There's a magnificant breeze and, in spite of thunderstorm warnings in my area until 11pm, not a cloud in the sky.
I've been working on a story about a boy who I think is about 11 years old. It's difficult getting into his head but I know there's a lot going on in there. I'm trying to remember what it's like to be 11. Ain't pretty, that much I know!
I've been reading George Saunders as well. Pastoralia. It's bizarre. I'm getting really excited to work with him, though, in Belize. He's got this way of making serious things humorous but keeping them serious at the same time, so at first you're not sure you should be laughing, but then he makes it so obvious that you know it's okay, then he brings it back around and basically says "hey, what are you laughing at, this is serious."
A small note....in spite of my not wanting to hear anything to do with the mentor series until the winners are posted on Aug. 15th, I've found out that phone calls have been made to winners. I, naturally, have not gotten a call. I'm still holding to my early philosophy, that if I didn't get it there's a reason for it and it's okay, but it's going to be hard to explain to everyone. Unlike a lot of other writers, I have an incredible support system of family and friends. They expect me to get in, and will be genuinely concerned that I didn't. I don't want to talk about it, and I don't want to keep explaining over and over again because then I will start to feel bad about it and that's just no good. Oh well. It's the price you pay for being cared about, I guess.