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Thud: On Roadstead Farm
May. 29th, 2013 09:36 pmMay 29, 2013 Progress Notes:
On Roadstead Farm
Words today: 1,700.
Words total: 78,800.
Reason for stopping: P. is home (WITH SUSHI!), and it's not crappy out for once, and we're going to go for a walk before I become a couch slug once again and for reals do a second round of words tonight.
Darling du Jour: The Great Southern Army was a wall of light. They carried flames like standards, torches like regimental flags.
(Alternately: "Nat's mouth skewed, all out of tune." I have two today too.)
Mean Things: The secrets you've been working so hard to keep just leaking out at the seams; feeling like you're going to jail because a sixteen-year-old girl saw you with your shirt off; a massive hit of depression; the fact that I had to rewrite half this chapter twice and it cost me all afternoon.
Research Roundup: Body models for Filipino men; spinning yarn on a drop spindle.
Books in progress:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
matociquala, Range of Ghosts.
The attempted second round last night kind of petered out: My hands ached, and I hit a wall, and just left it for today. We did get toiletpaper. And kleenex. And soap. And two boxes of Kraft Dinner, because this is a real undergrad-style work burn and the tools of old-school must be applied.
Further developments on HOW I SAVED THE WORLD TO PUT OFF CLEANING THE HENHOUSE:
Back into Chapter 16 with a vengeance: the direction it was going was all wrong, and so a good chunk of today was ripping it out and sending it on its way right. The answer to How many roads must a man walk down before she can finish Chapter 16? appears to be: Three.* Also I need to remember my own advice about not always going to the worst place, all the time, and versimilitude. Some things are lighter, in any situation. Some things always work.
But yeah. I finally finished Chapter 16. And then I wrote some of the climactic endgame scenes, as a reward for my being so very well-behaved today and not just giving up and throwing my laptop in the sink.
And now I will eat fish and go for a walk with my boyfriend and then come back and hit 80,000 words so help me god.
*How many metaphors must an author mix before they're forever banned?
On Roadstead Farm
Words today: 1,700.
Words total: 78,800.
Reason for stopping: P. is home (WITH SUSHI!), and it's not crappy out for once, and we're going to go for a walk before I become a couch slug once again and for reals do a second round of words tonight.
Darling du Jour: The Great Southern Army was a wall of light. They carried flames like standards, torches like regimental flags.
(Alternately: "Nat's mouth skewed, all out of tune." I have two today too.)
Mean Things: The secrets you've been working so hard to keep just leaking out at the seams; feeling like you're going to jail because a sixteen-year-old girl saw you with your shirt off; a massive hit of depression; the fact that I had to rewrite half this chapter twice and it cost me all afternoon.
Research Roundup: Body models for Filipino men; spinning yarn on a drop spindle.
Books in progress:
matociquala, Range of Ghosts.The attempted second round last night kind of petered out: My hands ached, and I hit a wall, and just left it for today. We did get toiletpaper. And kleenex. And soap. And two boxes of Kraft Dinner, because this is a real undergrad-style work burn and the tools of old-school must be applied.
Further developments on HOW I SAVED THE WORLD TO PUT OFF CLEANING THE HENHOUSE:
Back into Chapter 16 with a vengeance: the direction it was going was all wrong, and so a good chunk of today was ripping it out and sending it on its way right. The answer to How many roads must a man walk down before she can finish Chapter 16? appears to be: Three.* Also I need to remember my own advice about not always going to the worst place, all the time, and versimilitude. Some things are lighter, in any situation. Some things always work.
But yeah. I finally finished Chapter 16. And then I wrote some of the climactic endgame scenes, as a reward for my being so very well-behaved today and not just giving up and throwing my laptop in the sink.
And now I will eat fish and go for a walk with my boyfriend and then come back and hit 80,000 words so help me god.
*How many metaphors must an author mix before they're forever banned?
