Jul. 20th, 2004

Needed a period of unusual quiet in here, I suppose. I tend not to journal much when I'm not writing much, and after finishing Toronto Book with a bang! (although not an interrobang) it's been something of a forced vacation this month. I was at work ten days of the last fourteen, the [livejournal.com profile] sandwichboy got laid off suddenly last Monday and got a new job on Saturday (thank all employment-responsible deities), and several people were in town visiting, which meant a bit of mandated socializing. All this equals stress up the wazoo for Our Faithful Introvert and Keeper of the Household Budget.

Sunday and Monday we both had the day off. We locked the door to the apartment and did not leave it except to rent some movies and eat some exceptionally fine French food. We slept in until noon.

I feel better now.

I can already feel the next project warming up in my head, after a short flirtation with a Jeremy-like short story idea that probably needs to cook. Pritchard wants his book written, and having looked over it (now that it's been ascertained that my hard drive isn't going to blow up after all) what I have isn't bad at all. It's wandery and loses tension fast outside the first five thousand words, but that probably has a lot to do with my not knowing where the hell to go when I wrote it initially. It needs research, and I should do that before September comes and the gift of the university library card is tempered by having to write papers with it. But it also has this beautiful voice on it, this beautiful personality, and what I'm looking into thematically and plot-wise is worth writing about. It just needs some action. I'll kill some people and all will hopefully be well again.

(Digression: I'm starting to realize I have a bad habit in that direction. Not the killing per se, but the systematic removal of safety nets, buck-passer recipients, and all who could take responsibility for anything around the protagonist as a means of building tension. My Freudian slip is showing.)

Other than that, I really need to write some more short stories. My inventory is down to something like ten or thirteen, with a few poems tossed in at various markets. I haven't had this little on the move for a long time, now, except that I spent all my words since February writing Toronto Book and will likely spend all my words until December writing Pritchard. I really ought to find Patient Zero for this novel-writing thing and boot them in the butt. [livejournal.com profile] matociquala, I'm looking at you. *g*

I have a distinct list for the week, but I might post that seperately. For now, I have to shower, drink my tea, have my lunch, etc., and get to work by 3:00pm.

Counting down the years until I can quit my day job... :/

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