Thud: Above
Jul. 2nd, 2008 09:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
leahbobetJuly 2, 2008 Progress Notes:
Above
Words today: 1500.
Words total: 62,000 MS Word, 75,250 SMF.
Reason for stopping: Quota for tonight; not going to 2k, as I'm feeling a bit shaky.
Munchies: Chicken.
Darling du Jour: "Why do people do this?" I ask her at the end, when I'm crying almost on the paper and have to put it away, set it far so my tears don't spot the page and tell someone, anyone, every Whitecoat that brushes paper with their glove-covered skin that someone read their secret thoughts and deeds and sins and wept.
“They just wanted to help her be normal,” she says, simple, and cups her hands together, holding on to her own private impossibilities.
Words Matthew Won't Admit to Knowing: None tonight.
Mean Things: Nothing actually hugely mean tonight. They're all facing up to what they need to do very bravely. All are good little toasters.
Research Roundup: Whether "Angel" was a name in semi-common use in the 1950s. It was.
Books in progress: Charles Stross, Saturn's Children; Robertson Davies, The Lyre of Orpheus.
The glamour: Much and plentiful job-applying, support mail, and the Scouring of the Inbox. The orcs just keep coming back in there, I swear.
Napped into the early afternoon after getting the start on Saturnalia, and the rest of the day was a vaguely underslept weird heavy thing of less-than-perfect motivation. Also, I found myself stuck in a loop of recursive dream-logic involving werewolves, which I had to break before I could wake up properly. This is what you get for reading paranormal fantasies until dawn.
Still feeling sort of woozy, and I have to be up early tomorrow anyway, so probably heading to bed shortly. One wonders what kind of dreams reading Robertson Davies before bed will stir up. :p
Above
Words today: 1500.
Words total: 62,000 MS Word, 75,250 SMF.
| |
75,250 / 85,000 (88.5%) |
Reason for stopping: Quota for tonight; not going to 2k, as I'm feeling a bit shaky.
Munchies: Chicken.
Darling du Jour: "Why do people do this?" I ask her at the end, when I'm crying almost on the paper and have to put it away, set it far so my tears don't spot the page and tell someone, anyone, every Whitecoat that brushes paper with their glove-covered skin that someone read their secret thoughts and deeds and sins and wept.
“They just wanted to help her be normal,” she says, simple, and cups her hands together, holding on to her own private impossibilities.
Words Matthew Won't Admit to Knowing: None tonight.
Mean Things: Nothing actually hugely mean tonight. They're all facing up to what they need to do very bravely. All are good little toasters.
Research Roundup: Whether "Angel" was a name in semi-common use in the 1950s. It was.
Books in progress: Charles Stross, Saturn's Children; Robertson Davies, The Lyre of Orpheus.
The glamour: Much and plentiful job-applying, support mail, and the Scouring of the Inbox. The orcs just keep coming back in there, I swear.
Napped into the early afternoon after getting the start on Saturnalia, and the rest of the day was a vaguely underslept weird heavy thing of less-than-perfect motivation. Also, I found myself stuck in a loop of recursive dream-logic involving werewolves, which I had to break before I could wake up properly. This is what you get for reading paranormal fantasies until dawn.
Still feeling sort of woozy, and I have to be up early tomorrow anyway, so probably heading to bed shortly. One wonders what kind of dreams reading Robertson Davies before bed will stir up. :p
