Well we’ve sure been busy. I don’t Christmas shop, mother does that and she’s about wound it up for this year. I hope. No, she does a great job and usually has it all done by mid November. Someone asked me, "do you always write on one book until it is done"?
No, sometimes you have to get clear away from a project and let it ferment a while. I have to anyhow. And sometimes working at another project takes the pressure off that current one and you can go back to being fresh with ideas you needed in the first one.
There are some books that you can’t write fast enough to get them on paper—I mean you tear into them and they fly. While others mosey along and you about give up on them at times
But it is all in a day at a computer between you and your subconscious mind. That is the devil you have to have working and feeding your fingers like I am right now. And planting one’s backside in a chair is important. If you are going to write, it will require dedication, because no one else—no tooth fairy is going to put words on your page. Your mate is not going to twist your ears and say, “write.”
It will dang sure be your resolve that does it. My advice is teach yourself to write, write, correct it when you get done. You will not write prose to start but no good basketball player could shoot baskets until he practiced and practiced. Stop trying to imitate your favorite author too. Find a way that you are comfortable to tell the reader how you saw that place.
Example: The saloon that the two of us walked into that afternoon in Wichita must have been there when Coronado visited Kansas and no one had dusted it a time since them. Cobwebs hung down from everything and the bottles behind the bar looked frosted from it. My partner Poke sneezed hard standing beside me.
A bartender in a filthy apron strolled over and asked, “Whiskey or food?”
“I don’t need any of your food,” Poke said refusing to eat there with a sour look around at things.
I said “If you have some clean glasses pour us some whiskey in two of them.”
“Why you Texas boys maybe too damn fussy for my bar.”
Poke’s hand shot out across the bar with his huge fist then he squashed apron and shirt in his fierce grip, and he jerked the man’s face up close to his own. “Maybe we are. What are you going to do about it?”
My subconscious sent that to me. Maybe you saw it different than that. The important thing is now I need a scene to put it in.
It is fun being a writer and I love it. “Till next time stay out of them dusty bar rooms.”
“I’ll be back for coffee again. Nice visiting with you,”
Dusty Richards, Western Writer