More of the dusty road.

February 11, 2012 Progress Notes:

On Roadstead Farm

Words today: 250.
Words total: 15,900.
Reason for stopping: It's late, and I don't want to screw up my sleep schedule.

Darling du Jour: The tails of his soft-check shirt slopped over both thighs: the one angled down, bent-knee, to rest normal on the floor; the one stretched straight out, heel resting on the chair opposite, in a way that once would have been a sharp discourtesy.
Words Hallie Won't Admit to Knowing: She still doesn't like rude, which is funny considering how much she's talking about what's good manners and what isn't.
Mean Things: Hallie really is perenially crabby. I mean, she has reasons, but crab crab crab.

Research Roundup: N/A.
Books in progress: Lynn Coady, The Antagonist.

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This is a cursory obligatory page of fiction, for a day when I was mostly out with friends eating food (first brunch at Barque, and might I add oh my god blueberry pancakes with smoked duck on them what is this magic; then later, extremely vegetarian dinner at Fresh). It was pretty cold out today. This was a good day to mostly spend inside places, restaurants and people's apartments and such, eating food with one's friends.

I feel good that things are at a point where even if I start at midnight, I get, at least, my page.

Goodnight, internet.

Took my voice in a wooden box.

February 12, 2012 Progress Notes:

On Roadstead Farm

Words today: 250.
Words total: 16,150.
Reason for stopping: That's my bare minimum quota, and I've been at this all afternoon, so let's just throw that towel in for today, perhaps.

Darling du Jour: The sleep came off me like a cracked snakeskin.
Words Hallie Won't Admit to Knowing: Nothing today, but I will tell you, Halfrida Hoffmann has never met a simile she didn't like.
Mean Things: How long this took me.

Research Roundup: Birds with high flight speeds. Yes, I functionally looked up the flight speed of an unladen swallow. >.>
Books in progress: Lynn Coady, The Antagonist.

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A funny thing with drafting this chapter, this week: It's almost halfway revising. I have two sort of bits of false starts of Chapter Three, two different ideas of where it was going, and every so often I'll hit a sticking point, and think Oh, that's where that goes, and dig down into the trash file for a paragraph that described something entirely else to paste it right back in.

It's a very weird way to work, and it's slow as mud. But considering what this book is, and where it's set, and when? It's kind of beautifully fitting that it's being built, carefully, out of scavenged and reclaimed materials.

And that took too long. So I'm going to make some bread and play Dragon Age II for the rest of the night, in defiance of.