journalthe wages of honeywriting life

probably today is not that day

Those of you who keep an eye on my profile might have noticed (probably with alarm) that my latest iPod scrobble resulted in no less than 4 pages worth of Decemberists songs being added to my list of recently listened tracks.

That's a whole lot of Decemberists, and it's because the current short story is demanding it. The current short story wants all Decemberists — preferably the ones involving murder or suicide or death (which, actually, doesn't narrow the list overly much) — all day.1

The current short story, I might add, has already passed the 11,000 word mark and therefore has no right to be called a short story, particularly since it shows no signs of wrapping up yet.

One day I will learn how to write to a word limit without overshooting it by at least 175%.

  1. Dear Decemberists: thank you for writing songs which can withstand such a punishing listening routine. Although I won't claim I'm not being driven slightly — just slightly, you understand — insane by all that concentrated mayhem. Or it could be the story being born. You just never know. []