I’ve been reading Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast. While I’m partly enjoying it for its reminiscences of the joi de vivre of Paris at the time (as depicted so well in Midnight in Paris), I’m mostly enjoying Hemingway’s descriptions of the struggles of an aspiring writer.
I mean, okay, so I’m only a mere peddler of smut, but in the end it’s all words on a page. The struggle, to find the time, wrestling with words, paying the bills, it’s all the same in the end. It’s gratifying to see a famous writer going through many of the same issues as a lowly erotica writer.
Plus the cafes, food and wine, are just enchanting. For a more modern update on this genre, I’d highly recommend checking out cartoonist Lucy Knisely’s French Milk.
On the writing front, I’ve been plugging away at A Hookah-Smoking Caterpillar. My self-imposed deadline of August 10 is looking unlikely, but it shouldn’t be too far past that. I also have a newsletter that’s a few days late, so I’ll get that out in a day or so (I’d do it tonight, but the fambly are taking me out for a birthday dinner, so – pffft).
I’m getting my nerd on and putting together a customised Excel calendar thingy, to keep track of all my deadlines. That way, I probably still won’t keep to them, but at least I’ll feel guilty for missing them.