Blah, blah, blah. Whine, whine, whine. Seems like I’ve spent much of the past few months talking (to myself, at least) about how much I’m looking forward to “just making stuff up” once I cleared my current nonfiction project, Pasta, off my to-do list, even if only temporarily.
Well, on Friday, I did, submitting two sample chapters and a host of summaries suggesting additional profile subjects. And so, for the first time in ages, I’m facing no deadlines — self-imposed, agent-suggested, or contractually mandated. I have no writing obligations to anyone but myself, and I’ve got several fiction ideas to choose from.
So, how did I spend my leisure time this weekend? By reading an adult nonfiction book that directly ties into the next picture book biography I’ve got in mind. Why can’t I give myself a break?
My wife says it’s because, at heart, I’m a reportorial storyteller. I think it might be because I’m a chump.