New work mode

So I'm firing up the welder again, working on commissions. First one is a big heron for someone in northern MN. Making "stuff that looks like other stuff" (representational art) isn't really hard (for me), just labor intensive. You're following an imperative. In this case, "make this pile of steel look like a heron, ready? -- go."

Now that I'm not in show mode and on a set deadline my schedule can be less punishing. That means when the welding shirt I begin the chilly morning with becomes a solar panel that feels like it's adhering to my back I have to keep working -- so I change into my leather apron and spray my arms with SPF 10,000 (or higher if available) to avoid that attractive fried spam welder's sunburn on my biceps and forearms, and the dorky farmers tan on the backs of my arms. (Yes, still working outside in the driveway for now...) But when my thumb sockets begin to grind and the muscles running up my ribcage begin to get sore, and I fling my pliers halfway to the neighbor's yard muttering a flurry of profanity (hey, it was asking for it) -- I can quit.

So now I'm inside and get to write. I can't make myself query today. I don't want to contemplate rejection or get all dopily starry eyed and hopeful. I just want to get back to my new story and write some of what's been occurring in my head the last few days. Sorry, no musical references today. Barbara Demarco Barrett and the authors she was interviewing kept me company until now on the iPod. (See "Writers on writing" in literary links.)