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Thud: On Roadstead Farm
Oct. 17th, 2012 06:40 pmOctober 17, 2012 Progress Notes:
On Roadstead Farm
Words today: 600, and 700 in rescue verbiage from the old file.
Words total: 46,400 (shockingly, still wrong; I haven't gotten to tidying out the garbage words yet. Someday.)
Reason for stopping: Over quota, we are out of coffee and battery, and I have to head homeward to start dinner nom nom.
Motivational Threat of the Day: None, alas. But I'm running mostly on positive woot! energy today.
Darling du Jour: I rubbed my bandaged hand behind my back, and thought, This is too big. It was bigger than the walls of the dusty, close smokehouse; than the lines of our crooked fields; than the curve of the river that held them separate from the hills and forests north.
There was something going on here that was bigger than my whole world.
Mean Things: Complicated feels are complicated. Touching the edge of someone else's world-changing quest, and having the size of your world blown apart by that. Someone asking, without knowing, the hardest question. Being certain that you can never go home.
Research Roundup: N/A.
Books in progress: Tiffany Trent, The Unnaturalists
Written partially this morning, and partially on an impromptu work date with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
subject_zero, who is back home after a year-plus in British Columbia. We have a cushy table at CSI on Bathurst, and cucumber water, and a lot (a lot) of coffee and article-writing, fiction-writing, chat about his graphic design and doing social media for record releases and musician friends, and it's sort of like he wasn't gone for a year at all.
It's kind of weird and fascinating how I Know People Who Do Things, mostly by virtue of the fact that a lot of people I hung out with when I was sixteen or seventeen or twenty just...we all went and started Doing Things. And made sure we didn't lose touch. And now there's this weird illusion of cool and connectivity, because...a guy who I used to lightsaber-duel with in parking lots on Eglinton East and attack with Boston Cream filling at Tim Hortons is now an indie musician and mixes albums.
Go figure.
And now I am going to head home, because the uncanny Mr. P. is coming over for dinner, and I am going to make potatoes and stuffed mushrooms and steamed greens and duck for us to eat.*
*I like how I can be an awesome girlfriend just by virtue of cooking the things I want to eat for dinner anyways. Win!
On Roadstead Farm
Words today: 600, and 700 in rescue verbiage from the old file.
Words total: 46,400 (shockingly, still wrong; I haven't gotten to tidying out the garbage words yet. Someday.)
Reason for stopping: Over quota, we are out of coffee and battery, and I have to head homeward to start dinner nom nom.
Motivational Threat of the Day: None, alas. But I'm running mostly on positive woot! energy today.
Darling du Jour: I rubbed my bandaged hand behind my back, and thought, This is too big. It was bigger than the walls of the dusty, close smokehouse; than the lines of our crooked fields; than the curve of the river that held them separate from the hills and forests north.
There was something going on here that was bigger than my whole world.
Mean Things: Complicated feels are complicated. Touching the edge of someone else's world-changing quest, and having the size of your world blown apart by that. Someone asking, without knowing, the hardest question. Being certain that you can never go home.
Research Roundup: N/A.
Books in progress: Tiffany Trent, The Unnaturalists
Written partially this morning, and partially on an impromptu work date with
subject_zero, who is back home after a year-plus in British Columbia. We have a cushy table at CSI on Bathurst, and cucumber water, and a lot (a lot) of coffee and article-writing, fiction-writing, chat about his graphic design and doing social media for record releases and musician friends, and it's sort of like he wasn't gone for a year at all.It's kind of weird and fascinating how I Know People Who Do Things, mostly by virtue of the fact that a lot of people I hung out with when I was sixteen or seventeen or twenty just...we all went and started Doing Things. And made sure we didn't lose touch. And now there's this weird illusion of cool and connectivity, because...a guy who I used to lightsaber-duel with in parking lots on Eglinton East and attack with Boston Cream filling at Tim Hortons is now an indie musician and mixes albums.
Go figure.
And now I am going to head home, because the uncanny Mr. P. is coming over for dinner, and I am going to make potatoes and stuffed mushrooms and steamed greens and duck for us to eat.*
*I like how I can be an awesome girlfriend just by virtue of cooking the things I want to eat for dinner anyways. Win!
