![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
November 12, 2009 Progress Notes:
"When Your Number Isn't Up"
Words today: 200.
Words total: 200.
Reason for stopping: This is slippery. I've been beating my head on it for two days now, and that's notable progress. And I have to go to bed.
Darling du Jour: The thick tendon that held Niklas's jaw to his broad, flat Slavic face twitched like a Mexican jumping bean. "Jake," he said, scuffed red cap in one hand. "You better come."
Mean Things: Anxiety triggers, attempted suicide, love at first sight.
Research Roundup: Nerve pills/patent medicines/anxiety medications, pillboxes, 1940s porter uniforms, former habitats of the American chestnut, 1940s ambulances and whether they had sirens, St. James son of Alphaeus, Slavic male photo references, The Maltese Falcon, film noir, hardboiled prose samples. I have no idea why I keep doing this to myself with the period pieces.
Books in progress: Nicole Kornher-Stace, Desideria.
The glamour: Not much tonight aside from putting my head between the vise blocks and squeezing. For some reason I fell into Wikipedia and read all about female serial killers too. Not sure what that was about.
It's probably premature to take this as any indication that my head has words in it again. I'm actually pretty sure it doesn't, and the responsible thing to do would be to stop this right now and read ten more books at least.
Thing is, I just got bored of not writing.
(Yes, folks, there is only so much Ghost Hunters a girl can legitimately watch, and only so much slacking a girl can do before the urge to chew one's own skin off just for something to do gets to be more than background noise.)
So while this is being kind of terrifically slow and awful and plot construction is proving laborious and I'm pretty much of the opinion that every other sentence I've got was hit in the face with an ugly stick every Sunday while growing up? At this point, I'll pretty much go until I stop.
"When Your Number Isn't Up"
Words today: 200.
Words total: 200.
Reason for stopping: This is slippery. I've been beating my head on it for two days now, and that's notable progress. And I have to go to bed.
Darling du Jour: The thick tendon that held Niklas's jaw to his broad, flat Slavic face twitched like a Mexican jumping bean. "Jake," he said, scuffed red cap in one hand. "You better come."
Mean Things: Anxiety triggers, attempted suicide, love at first sight.
Research Roundup: Nerve pills/patent medicines/anxiety medications, pillboxes, 1940s porter uniforms, former habitats of the American chestnut, 1940s ambulances and whether they had sirens, St. James son of Alphaeus, Slavic male photo references, The Maltese Falcon, film noir, hardboiled prose samples. I have no idea why I keep doing this to myself with the period pieces.
Books in progress: Nicole Kornher-Stace, Desideria.
The glamour: Not much tonight aside from putting my head between the vise blocks and squeezing. For some reason I fell into Wikipedia and read all about female serial killers too. Not sure what that was about.
It's probably premature to take this as any indication that my head has words in it again. I'm actually pretty sure it doesn't, and the responsible thing to do would be to stop this right now and read ten more books at least.
Thing is, I just got bored of not writing.
(Yes, folks, there is only so much Ghost Hunters a girl can legitimately watch, and only so much slacking a girl can do before the urge to chew one's own skin off just for something to do gets to be more than background noise.)
So while this is being kind of terrifically slow and awful and plot construction is proving laborious and I'm pretty much of the opinion that every other sentence I've got was hit in the face with an ugly stick every Sunday while growing up? At this point, I'll pretty much go until I stop.
