I’ve spent the week writing/editing/scribbling on a printed-out draft of a long-ish (12,000-ish words) short story titled Wolf (A Journal of the Plague Years). Also reading Ross Douthat’s The Decadent Society, which “explains what happens when a rich and powerful society ceases advancing”.
I agree with Mr Douthat. What he said.
Everything from political sclerosis to long-running film franchises, explained. My occasional extravagance is hardback books, so I can even tell you that I like the paper this one’s printed on. Published recently by Simon & Schuster.
My short story, which I started because I’m one short (in my estimation) for a planned collection, has reached the important stage where the print-out joins the assorted debris on my desk (kitchen table), surfacing occasionally, becoming dog-eared, gathering coffee-mug rings and (when I see it floating past and pick it up) scribbled corrections, notes and shopping lists.
I might post it on Medium, where I found the other day that another short story has earned all of 7 cents since posting – or I may not. I like the format at Medium, and there’s something agreeably game-like about such tiny sums of money*.
I’ll just add it to the collection. Late in the running order, which feels right. Coming shortly, et cetera.
Ahem. I did say last week, didn’t I, that I was going to stop my regular habit of posting here every Friday?
What are you doing here?
What do you mean, what am I doing here?
*On Medium, you get paid according to how many people read and “clap” your post. I really should think this through, preferably before revealing that my other story got paid 7 cents.