That's what all my writery books say. As I'm working, I should be secretive about my work. Mysterious about my words. Hush! Hush!
So fine, I won't tell anyone what I'm writing, only that I've got something to work with, which is always a nice thing to have when you're a writer.
I know, people are so breathless with anticipation. It's like, it's like I'm Dean Koontz and I just released a new series. Only I'm a writer who's never released anything except newsy articles for a military newspaper and fantasy stories for a game, but... but I FEEL like I'm a writer about to release something wonderful.
Yes, I live optimistically. But really, it's about the words and the story.
I usually track page counts or word counts, but I'm not there yet. Right now it's all setting and mood and time and age and figuring out who these people traipsing about my head are, and why it is the middle of July and hot and 90 degrees but in my head it's the eve of a cold, harsh winter... Brace Yourself... Winter is... naaah I can't do it.
Yes, I know, this post is very stream-of-consciousness - it has been edited for context where needed, but for the most part, comes direct from my brain.
I know, my brain is a very strange place. Imagine what it's like to live in it.