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January 3, 2010 Progress Notes:
"Stay"
Words today: 300.
Words total: 400.
Reason for stopping: Back to work tomorrow, so bed for me.
Darling du Jour: She felt the storm come in in her kneecaps, then her thighs, and by eight o'clock it blew from the north into Enterprise January-hard and fine like sand, and Cora's hip was aching.
Mean Things: Suicide by snowstorm; possession; what sounds like it might be fibro or arthritis.
Research Roundup: South Slavey/Dene language and common phrases therein; wendigo refresher.
Books in progress: Margo Lanagan, Black Juice.
The glamour: Tidying, dishes, vacuuming, yet more laundry. There seems to be a dirty laundry respawn point somewhere in this apartment, because all those socks sure ain't me.
Tonight is all-around frustrating. It took me hours to get those words -- and notably that darling -- and it's still all feeling shaky. I mean, I think I have the right in here? It immediately rewarded me with information, so it probably is the right in. But.
This is making me snappish and snarky and generally unpleasant to be around. Knowing what is happening in my process on the theoretical level and being able to see what's wrong are one thing. Doing anything about it and/or liking it are another. I am not the Happy Phantom, and I reserve the right to bitch.
Also, the spout on my favourite teapot broke, and now it pours all fuckedy.
Sigh.
While these are all, yes, first-world problems, I think I'm going to go crawl under my blanket now.
"Stay"
Words today: 300.
Words total: 400.
Reason for stopping: Back to work tomorrow, so bed for me.
Darling du Jour: She felt the storm come in in her kneecaps, then her thighs, and by eight o'clock it blew from the north into Enterprise January-hard and fine like sand, and Cora's hip was aching.
Mean Things: Suicide by snowstorm; possession; what sounds like it might be fibro or arthritis.
Research Roundup: South Slavey/Dene language and common phrases therein; wendigo refresher.
Books in progress: Margo Lanagan, Black Juice.
The glamour: Tidying, dishes, vacuuming, yet more laundry. There seems to be a dirty laundry respawn point somewhere in this apartment, because all those socks sure ain't me.
Tonight is all-around frustrating. It took me hours to get those words -- and notably that darling -- and it's still all feeling shaky. I mean, I think I have the right in here? It immediately rewarded me with information, so it probably is the right in. But.
This is making me snappish and snarky and generally unpleasant to be around. Knowing what is happening in my process on the theoretical level and being able to see what's wrong are one thing. Doing anything about it and/or liking it are another. I am not the Happy Phantom, and I reserve the right to bitch.
Also, the spout on my favourite teapot broke, and now it pours all fuckedy.
Sigh.
While these are all, yes, first-world problems, I think I'm going to go crawl under my blanket now.
