I’m straddling two writing projects and I feel like Short Round, pulled between parallel mine carts racing over a ravine of lava. Well, okay, that might be a bit much. My one Big Work is the implementation of the final edit of my book. With just thirty pages left, I can see the finish line. The other work is just notes so far. But it has such delicious promise. It’s been a while since I started something new, and this new idea sprang from the smallest of ideas, a joke really. Then during a midday jog it blossomed, replicated, subdivided, replicated again, and grew itself into a world.
Now I’m stuck between wanting to outline the new thing and finishing the old thing. I like both worlds I’ve created, and enjoy spending time in both. But I know the old one, and the new one…well, it is like a warm cinnamon bun just sitting there on the counter. Go on, take a bite. If I’m in the other room I still know it’s there, waiting for me, tempting with sugary fingers that float around the corner and tickle my nose, like you see in old Looney Tunes cartoons.