What was it I once said about regret?

Well. This is either a really good idea or, you know, the (um) other kind. Those of you who are truly observant will have observed a new category to the right of these words. Somewhere. It is called, "Erin's Workshop." Unlike Santa's workshop, however, nobody on the inside is having much fun. That would be because it all takes place within the curious confines of my own mind.

Wait; come back. I said nobody on the inside is having fun; you are on the outside. Mostly. So, there's a possibility you might have fun. It's slim, but it's there, baby. Here's what I'm thinking (and, mind you, I've eaten cookies for lunch today, so allow me to disclaim any concrete responsibility for what I am typing or doing):

I have dug up an old manuscript that I started writing in college. Oh, my, yes. That long ago. I dusted this sucker off last year sometime and vastly improved it. So much that I actually let two people read it.* Then, I cracked it open again a few days ago and nearly vomited all over my keyboard.

I am going to post one chapter per week in Erin's Workshop. I told you guys months ago I was getting desperate. See what happened? This is not--repeat NOT--my new novel. If you like, we can call it an exercise in character and plot development. Um, a copyrighted exercise in character and plot development.

I've started today, with the prologue. And, again with the disclaimer, I have no idea what I was thinking with those first few sentences. The dude's head feels like it's going to explode...

...but he wouldn't call it a headache. What, then? What the hell else do you call it when your head feels like it's going to explode? A stomachache? Athlete's foot?

Yeah, and I have no description. No summary. No book jacket copy. What is it about? I swear I don't know. Some girl who is really stubborn and has some boyfriend in London who lets her get away with being entirely too stubborn (my family is ROTFL right now), and then she meets this musician dude who won't let her be so stubborn (Ha--never saw that one coming, did you, family? You thought the London boyfriend would be the musician, dintcha?). And then there's some drug dealer who causes trouble for everyone. 

So...someone dies, someone runs away, someone is naughty with someone's neighbor, someone else is naughty but in a much deadlier way. Yada-yada-yada. Sit back and watch the hilarious consequences unfold.

As for why I am doing this...I also do not know. For fun? Sure. For fun. Annnnddddd, you guys are encouraged to comment. Say whatever you like. Open season. My own comments will be down below, in a follow-up to the post. I'd like to try the discussion thread again, but only if someone will play with me. (Someone other than my mom, bless her heart. My biggest fan. :-) Let me know, via comment or e-mail, and I will start one up.

I actually do think this could be fun.

* Sam and Sally--my heartfelt apologies.

Comments

[Susan]

I think it is great that you are being so discliplined. Every (great, productive) writer has his or her process. You might enjoy this collection of interviews with famous writers about their "process": http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=120813402
Some of them sound suprisingly painful.

[Stasa]

I think this is a fantastic idea. And I'm already sucked in by your intro.