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Thud: Above
Feb. 25th, 2008 07:46 pmFebruary 25, 2008 Progress Notes:
Above
Words today: 4000.
Words total: 24,000 MS Word.
Reason for stopping: That took five hours, my brain is exhausted, and I need real food before I run myself into the ground trying for more more more.
Liquid Refreshment: Water.
Munchies: Double gloucester with stilton and tangerines.
Exercise: N/A.
Mail: Nomail.
Darling du Jour: "How young?" she asks. Her wings are pushing at my belly, stiff and brittle. They hum weakly; moving to keep alive. It feels like her breath against my neck.
Awake and listening. I knew she was.
"Doctor Marybeth don't know," I tell her. "Could be as many years as Atticus." I pause. "Could be less."
It doesn't make me cry anymore. All I feel is shadow cold.
"Matthew?" she whispers, edgeless, soft, sad. "Touch them?"
I touch her wings. Stiff, living.
They feel like Sanctuary.
Tyop du Jour: N/A
Words MS Word Doesn't Know: aswirl. I may have made that up.
Mean Things: About to blow a gasket in front of your abuse-victim runner girlfriend. And you can't. But she's so wrong, and there's nothing to do but yell at the trees because she'll never see the difference between wrong deed and being wrong herself. Old wounds people won't talk about. Being attacked by shadows. Fire.
Research Roundup: fish anatomy, hybrid characteristics, heterosis and outbreeding. I finally figured out Matthew's Curse.
Books in progress: Marie Brennan, Midnight Never Come; textbooks.
The glamour: I ignored a pile of work to do this today, thinking it'd only be three pages or so and then time for other stuff. And then the dam broke and shoved me along in its wake. Oh, this is gonna be bad tomorrow.
The first chapter is workshopped, and I've put up the second. Workshopping the first has let me figure out how I'm botching the action in the first quarter or third of the second, but it's probably more productive to keep writing now and fix the botchery later.
I missed this. I missed the immediate feedback, the people picking up where they think you're going and then putting that together, laying out how you can get the most mileage out of the set pieces you've constructed, and where they're weak. Doing this to the book before it's set in your head. And the way that gets you running to make more until it's like a hand on your back, pushing, and you can't stop making more until you hit a point of pure exhaustion, because the plot just unrolls in front of you like ribbon.
Oh, words. Words words words.
Also, "Fitcher's Third Wife" has earned an Honourable Mention in the next Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, according to Ellen Datlow. I am chuffed and pleased and chuffed.
Above
Words today: 4000.
Words total: 24,000 MS Word.
Reason for stopping: That took five hours, my brain is exhausted, and I need real food before I run myself into the ground trying for more more more.
Liquid Refreshment: Water.
Munchies: Double gloucester with stilton and tangerines.
Exercise: N/A.
Mail: Nomail.
Darling du Jour: "How young?" she asks. Her wings are pushing at my belly, stiff and brittle. They hum weakly; moving to keep alive. It feels like her breath against my neck.
Awake and listening. I knew she was.
"Doctor Marybeth don't know," I tell her. "Could be as many years as Atticus." I pause. "Could be less."
It doesn't make me cry anymore. All I feel is shadow cold.
"Matthew?" she whispers, edgeless, soft, sad. "Touch them?"
I touch her wings. Stiff, living.
They feel like Sanctuary.
Tyop du Jour: N/A
Words MS Word Doesn't Know: aswirl. I may have made that up.
Mean Things: About to blow a gasket in front of your abuse-victim runner girlfriend. And you can't. But she's so wrong, and there's nothing to do but yell at the trees because she'll never see the difference between wrong deed and being wrong herself. Old wounds people won't talk about. Being attacked by shadows. Fire.
Research Roundup: fish anatomy, hybrid characteristics, heterosis and outbreeding. I finally figured out Matthew's Curse.
Books in progress: Marie Brennan, Midnight Never Come; textbooks.
The glamour: I ignored a pile of work to do this today, thinking it'd only be three pages or so and then time for other stuff. And then the dam broke and shoved me along in its wake. Oh, this is gonna be bad tomorrow.
The first chapter is workshopped, and I've put up the second. Workshopping the first has let me figure out how I'm botching the action in the first quarter or third of the second, but it's probably more productive to keep writing now and fix the botchery later.
I missed this. I missed the immediate feedback, the people picking up where they think you're going and then putting that together, laying out how you can get the most mileage out of the set pieces you've constructed, and where they're weak. Doing this to the book before it's set in your head. And the way that gets you running to make more until it's like a hand on your back, pushing, and you can't stop making more until you hit a point of pure exhaustion, because the plot just unrolls in front of you like ribbon.
Oh, words. Words words words.
Also, "Fitcher's Third Wife" has earned an Honourable Mention in the next Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, according to Ellen Datlow. I am chuffed and pleased and chuffed.
