A rock solid week of writing turned cold mid-week. Unforseen extracurricular activities and the job swallowed way more time than I anticipated. Tomorrow the tide reverses.

Seriously though, how often does one need a tux fitting so he can serve as a best man? Or resolve two Internet connectivity issues, one of which idled the entire campus, and killed a business day. Plus convince a CFO that spending 20k is saving money. Then spend 20k.

Got The Stash to a few people for comments and feedback. This will be an interesting exercise, because I’m at a loss as to how I feel about the story myself. Horror and me might work.

Some claim one sign of a solid story is whether or not it interests the author. Translated, is this a story the author has to read? If so, maybe the piece has that special quality that sets it apart. I might be too old and jaded, but I know that my personal tastes are darker and more technical than to serve as any kind of indicator.

Oh, I know what I like. I like 1,200 page biographies and books on network design or application development.Then a Helen Fielding, James Patterson and Robert Parker chaser. Very different genres and kinds of entertainment, that stimulate different areas of the brain, and which draw very different readers. And yet I have no interest writing in any of those genres. All right, I would like to write mysteries like Parker, or thrillers like Patterson.

Bottom line: I distrust my judgment over whether a manuscript delivers the goods. Maybe that makes me try harder at my own writing. It might.

In the past two weeks, I have tried a number of techniques to improve productivity and increase focus while writing. I have learned one important lesson. By far the most effective technique is the simplest.

When I write now, I power up a laptop without inserting the wireless networking card. All writing happens on this one laptop. This combination allows me to work in anywhere, free of wires, and far from the call of the Internet. Ah, so elementary, yet so powerful.

Sure web research starts harmlessly enough. Perhaps a quick peek at websters.com for the online thesaurus or dictionary. Maybe pop over to cnn.com or foxnews.com for the latest headline. Current events matter, after all. And I want my howstuffworks.com, because the writers need intimate knowledge of engineering concepts. But all too often, what is a brief diversion snowballs into a twenty minute distraction.

And Internet borne distractions are more intrusive than life distractions. If the phone rings, I can pick it up and chat for a few minutes and return to a project in about the same place. If Buddhapuss jumps on on my lap, I pat him. But if I’m writing and start surfing, it breaks the spell that keeps the words flowing out of me and onto the screen. Double plus ungood.

Maybe someday I’ll have more discipline to manage my Internet intake. But for now, I’m working it Koontz style.

The Stash passes the morning after test. In other words, the story reads as it did when I finished writing.

Made a few quick tune-ups, but basically a very light edit. After I hear back from a few people who agreed to read it, I’ll consult with someone who knows a lot more about horror markets than myself and find it a home.

The piece I mentioned earlier last week, one that a lawyer friend consented to my co-opting is done; however, it turned out nothing like expected. So different, it earned a new title.

Originally, the title was Hiding My Johnson, and yes the tongue in cheek reference was intentional. I believe we both pictured a dark comedy. When I started writing, it was funny, and delivered a few great zingers. With much amusement, I invested several hours per session into the project, growing the story. I laughed at the insanity of their predicament. I had fun. Then events turned.

Something happened between page five and six: the main character and the antagonist started playing different tunes. By page seven, the characters hinted that matters more ominous lay ahead than just black humor. I elected to not analyze, letting the characters run where they wanted; I would count the bodies later. And run they did. Even though I envisioned a dark comedy, the final product is…gasp…horror.

Not sure if it’s scary, so I’ll run it by a few of the Eight and get their take.

Since my head is still in a recent 2,500 mile car trip, and writing is its own journey, an analogy seems fitting. To cast the writing experience in road trip terms, maybe the true role of a writer is to be more an active passenger than a driver. Like the one with the map who highlights alternate routes. Listen more than talk, and suggest on occasion. But ultimately, the decisions are made by other forces in the car.

In other words, duck and get out of the characters way.