I've been thinking lately about how much my writing style and strategy has changed over the last two years. The other day I opened up the file box and pulled out a stack of notebooks - the blue-lined kind I first starting writing in.
There were a bunch of crazy half-stories in there, as well as a few rough drafts of things that were eventually all rejected by Weird Tales (and only Weird Tales, it being the only magazine I was at the time certain existed). It was cool to drag my hands down those weathered, pen-chewed pages, since now the only thing I use notebooks for is notes, and the pen I use is one of those really inky ones, so I don't even have to press hard.
Anyway, I'm still at the point where I can recall pretty specific stages to my writing. There was that in-the-book, never-to-see-light-day stage; then the era of many-revisions and first submissions. That stage lasted a while, until the "try-my-hand-at-a-novel-and-fail" period, and then, only this past summer, the Blitzkrieg (a lot of casualties there, mostly synthetic electronic trees - but also the more obscure parts of my vocabulary).
I think I'm now in the occupation stage: I'm pitching tents, putting up the razor wire, solidifying ideas. The grand strategy is set: write a whole lot and submit everything. But the battle tactics remain, as ever, up for revision. In the last three months I've woken up early to write, written over lunch hours at work, written one hour exactly every night, and now I'm writing in little smidgens wherever I can.
Hopefully, the battle will soon be won; though I expect, since I hope to make a career out of this (one day), that there will be a lot more engagements.
Question is: who's the enemy?
P.S. Probably myself. Possibly videogames.