I am a poor boy too

For eleven years I've been opening new posts here and then sort of talking to myself. But that's only when I don't have something to say about other things, other people. Today is one of those talking to myself days.

I can't seem to get motivated to work on any pieces. I sent in my latest draft of The Orchard Is Full of Sound last week and since then I've managed to write about two paragraphs on a story I realized I needed to write differently. 

I have a new approach to stories that I want to keep using, resisting the reflexive path to a traditional narrative. I like the new way. There have been some of these put out into the world and I've gotten a little bit of feedback. Positive feedback. 

Going to close this post out. I thought maybe if I came in and talked for a bit I might get jarred into writing some worthy fiction. Still not feeling it, though. It seems just mean-spirited to have nothing else to say and to be trying to say it only to get my fiction brain going. I wish I was keeping up with the lit scene enough that I could recommend some stories here and leave posts to them, but I've been out of the loop for so long. I don't even know if many of my friends have books newly out right now. I wish I did. But I can correct that. 

Watch this spot for future plugs for friends with new books discussions.