Sundays typically go like this: mass, the after-party at my in laws, and reporting at the newspaper.
On this weekend day, my fiction writing almost always gets zero attention.
The most I do is check on comments at Do Some Damage (my posts run every Sunday) and do a little online surfing, but other than that, my goals are not anywhere even close to met on Sundays. And that’s okay. This is my day off from writing.
Work at the newspaper was stressful — death and violence. A couple killed on the freeway — dad driving 100 mph smashed into the back of a semi truck killing himself and his pregnant wife and leaving their one-year-old an orphan. A shooting, (which at first sounded like a big deal, reported as shot to the head when it was a arm wound). A man missing in the Mississippi after the Hummer he was in seemingly purposely plunged into the river. A woman who gunned her engine and ran over a man after an argument, sending him to the hospital in serious condition. A body found.
I felt like I was overwhelmed and never quite managed to do justice to one story, instead just played catch up. I should’ve just jumped on one story and gone full out, but instead I tried to add bits and pieces to each one. And those phone calls I make to grieving family members — which I talk about in that Do Some Damage post yesterday — well, last night, I left messages everywhere and could never reach a family member, who apparently did call back the competing paper. Ack!
Not my greatest night at work. The regular police reporter was very sweet when I gave her an update, said that I work my butt off and that I can’t expect to get everything because newspapers are understaffed. Which took away some of the sting, but I tossed and turned in bed last night, wondering how I could have done it all differently.
Writing: 2,500 words or three hours of revision
Walking: 1 mile
Writing: 0 toward novel
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