Finished a short story tonight and couldn’t print it up. So it still feels unfinished.
Amazing the power of a habit of over 30 years. For all that time, when I finished a story or novel or anything, such as an introduction to a book or issue, I would print it up almost immediately. Within minutes. Manuscript format. And I would give it to Kris to read.
That made the story finished for me, solid and on paper, and I seldom (like never) looked at it again except to correct typos Kris found.
But Kris’s printer went crazy a week or so ago, and I was busy with other stuff, so I gave her mine. Forgot I didn’t have one because I wasn’t finishing anything that needed printing. And then yesterday that one gave up the ghost and she ordered a new one, and I haven’t gotten around to ordering a new one. No working printer in the entire house.
So for the first time in over thirty years, I can’t print up a story I just finished. I can’t tell if I am going to go through withdrawals, or just sit in shock and stare out the window.
Thirty plus years of the same exact habit. I need my fix. I need my printer.
Writers, we are so flipping weird.