Love is hard. Writing is hard. Loving writing? Hardhard.

That Oprah post...it sapped all my energy. (Don't ever let 'em say that linking things is easy work.)

Updates soon. But, let me note this: I've shied away from "OMG How To Write And Publish Your Mad 1337 Novel Doodz!!" books since I started writing, since, you know, us "real writers" (note the self-deprecating sarcasm there) know that you can't find the secret to writing in books, of all places (note the noted sense of sarcastic ironic self-deprecation there). I've stayed away from the guides and the how-to's because it seemed pretty obvious that in order to write one must write and that spending time reading about writing instead of actually writing was, best case scenario, counter-productive. (Never mind you for a second the amount of time I've spent playing video games, downloading legal MP3s, or staring off into empty space that could have been less guiltily spent actually writing. Never mind you those hours lost forever for a second.)

That said, the whole me and writing thing, it's been rough lately. At the risk of turning into a whiner: I've got no enemy but myself. I don't find the time to write, I can't settle my mind enough on writing when I am writing, I don't finish what I write, I don't submit what I finish--the list of ways in which I actively thwart my own (already, by the nature of the business, long and cruelly difficult) efforts towards fame, fortune, and potential readerships in the double-digits is staggering. In short (short for me, at least): there's a headspace where a young, daft, and almost comedically good-looking novice writer like myself has to be, but of late I can only occasionally catch a brief glimpse of that headspace somewhere over on the horizon as it mocks me by playing hopscotch with the sun. And dammit all if this Charon guy won't accept a wink and a nod for river-passage payment.

In short (almost honestly for real this time): my mind needs a good smackin'.

Luckily, I've been reading Slushpile (not "the slushpile" but rather a good litblog worth your bookmark) and they've run a few features on a book called 78 Reasons Why Your Book May Never Be Published and 14 Reasons Why It Just Might, for which I put down my above-noted bias in order to pick up from the bookstore today. (Click here for an intro to the book, click here for a review of the book, and finally, click here for part one of an interview with Pat Walsh, author of the book and a founding editor at independent publisher MacAdam/Cage. I'm looking forward to part two.)

So far I've read about a fifth of the book. I had to put it down because it just hurt. so. good. It's a slender little volume and it's written in a very engaging style--I've already read more little gems than I'll ever have the energy or will to quote here--and, well. It's probably about the strength of the mental slap I need right about now. He starts off with the first mistake he sees "writers" making, which is not actually having a book finished. (On the one hand, I can say I do have a finished book. So I was prepared to breathe a sigh of relief--"I'm zero for one! I'm zero for one!" before I checked the other hand, and realized I can't say much for anything that's happened since I finished that first book. And from glancing at the table of contents I can tell that I'm going to soon be told that you have to move on to the next book once you've finished the first one. Bugger!) Once Walsh gets rid of everyone who just talks about finishing a book, he focuses his attention on the rest of us (if I may humbly include myself in the "I do! I do have a finished book!" category) and starts to point out everything about why you're not actually really finished and/or why you totally suck as a human being and should just give up forever because you're never going to make it. You poser. (I think I'm on mistake 15 or 16 or so and, yes, I've cringed a few times, while responding to many other points with tentative gulps of, "I don't do that. I don't. I don't, right? Do I? Aww...") (And no, he doesn't call you a poser. Or suggest that you suck. Just that your book isn't good enough yet. I didn't mean to put words in his mouth. I'm just feeling a little emo about the whole thing, is all. Harumph.)

So, I can't say much about how this book ranks in the overall "Get Published ASAP And Be The Next Dan Brown!!!" category of books, but so far, in examining my own situation and relating the book to my current headspace, I've found it tentatively helpful, though painful. It's tough love, though. That's something. That's a good something. Right?