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July 24, 2011 Progress Notes:
"On Roadstead Farm"
Words today: 500.
Words total: 5150.
Reason for stopping: I desire brownies. Also the laptop keyboard has done something weird with my " character in Word, and writing around it is frustrating, and I will fix it after I've had brownies.
Darling du Jour: The weak-steeped tea lapped low tide in the cups, clouded with this morning’s milk.
Words Hallie Won't Admit to Knowing: looking at; she prefers watching.
Mean Things: People totally missing the social hint and going on and on about the war when you really don't want to talk about the war. The poor quality of serial killer-proofing done in the postapocalyptic, post-epic fantasy era.
Research Roundup: Some northern Ontario accents and dialects; floor plans of 1920s farmhouses; visual reference of Saskatchewan homesteads.
Books in progress: Darren O'Donnell, Your Secrets Sleep With Me.
The glamour: I made a very, very good omelette for lunch today. No, really, it was the best.
Night market did not happen last night, which is for the best on a few levels: it has cooled down massively today, but everything's still kind of terribly hot. So I am lurking in the house with a lot of sakura iced tea and fiction-writing and the tabs to Audioslave's "I am the Highway", which I am teaching myself to play on the guitar because I miss music terribly and it's a pretty simple place to start. Something may come of that. Nothing might. Who knows?
Before that, though, I need to be doing something with those duck breasts I got the other week from Sanagan's, and then brownies. Or maybe brownies first. Since one of the pleasures of being an adult is that you can spoil your dinner with brownies and the world is powerless to stop you.
"On Roadstead Farm"
Words today: 500.
Words total: 5150.
Reason for stopping: I desire brownies. Also the laptop keyboard has done something weird with my " character in Word, and writing around it is frustrating, and I will fix it after I've had brownies.
Darling du Jour: The weak-steeped tea lapped low tide in the cups, clouded with this morning’s milk.
Words Hallie Won't Admit to Knowing: looking at; she prefers watching.
Mean Things: People totally missing the social hint and going on and on about the war when you really don't want to talk about the war. The poor quality of serial killer-proofing done in the postapocalyptic, post-epic fantasy era.
Research Roundup: Some northern Ontario accents and dialects; floor plans of 1920s farmhouses; visual reference of Saskatchewan homesteads.
Books in progress: Darren O'Donnell, Your Secrets Sleep With Me.
The glamour: I made a very, very good omelette for lunch today. No, really, it was the best.
Night market did not happen last night, which is for the best on a few levels: it has cooled down massively today, but everything's still kind of terribly hot. So I am lurking in the house with a lot of sakura iced tea and fiction-writing and the tabs to Audioslave's "I am the Highway", which I am teaching myself to play on the guitar because I miss music terribly and it's a pretty simple place to start. Something may come of that. Nothing might. Who knows?
Before that, though, I need to be doing something with those duck breasts I got the other week from Sanagan's, and then brownies. Or maybe brownies first. Since one of the pleasures of being an adult is that you can spoil your dinner with brownies and the world is powerless to stop you.
