Writing in the car is paradoxic and strange.
The car's engine is off. I wonder how long the car battery will last with the ignition key turned half-way, classical music playing on the radio and the car's clock counting down the minutes until I have to hop out and go to work.
A wireless keyboard rests on my lap; I'm staring at the iPad, which is propped up on the steering wheel.
This narrative I'm working on is moving forward, even though the car is still.
Later.
I'm trying to write, and it's a chore. I'm tired. My throat hurts. I give myself permission to rest.
But after the rest, which goes on much longer than I expected, I'm looking at the stack of revisions I have to do with a sense of weariness. I always seem to feel tired and rundown when I have a largish chunk of time to write. So here I am, trying to jump-start writing by blogging.
On the business side, the computer with my submission tracking software on it died. This isn't so bad, and I have a back-up, only runs on a different platform. I'll have to see about porting it somehow. And then there's that longish, wandering, non-fiction thing I wrote. I should do something with that--on one hand, I could serialize it; but on the other hand, it might be interesting to e-publish it and see where it goes.
Ugh. Business decisions. Quick! Start writing!
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