Alice Buell Lawrence

I was out of town last week, and I’m still getting adjusted to being back at work. It’s been a week where I could have been more productive, both here in the office and with my writing. I’m a little annoyed with myself.

But getting out of town was a good thing. I attended a conference for work—it was on a topic that I deal with on a daily basis, and I went with good people. We had a good, productive time, I think.

While we were out to dinner on the final night, I found myself watching one of the servers, noting the way they moved through their job. My first thought, based on movement and appearance, was that they were a dancer, and I let myself fill in an entire story there. Then I wrote it.

It feels a little weird sometimes, to craft something from chance encounters with strangers. But none of what I wrote is based on anything real. They’re inspiration. The world around me is inspiration.

I have more polishing to do on this one. I read through some of my novel, the one that needs editing, a couple of days ago. My language felt more playful there, more adventurous, and I’m debating if I want that back or if I’m content to have a more straightforward style. Or maybe I can do both things in different pieces. That will be interesting to discover.

Now that I’m back, it’s on to the editing pile with the hope of getting submissions in again. The rejections are trickling in from the last batch, so it’s time to go again. Someday, I tell you.