(no subject)
Apr. 3rd, 2012 08:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
leahbobetApril 3, 2012 Progress Notes:
On Roadstead Farm
Words today: 450.
Words total: 18,900.
Reason for stopping: That's combing back through the first chapter and adding the things that need adding. Also, it is cold in here and I can't feel my fingers. And I need to make some dinner.
Darling du Jour: There's a trick to seeing double: the thing you half-remember and the thing walking toward you, moving side by side against the sunset as if they were hand in hand.
Words Hallie Won't Admit to Knowing: N/A.
Mean Things: Taking all the emotional content I had lurking about in the subtext and slamming it right onto the page, fears and doubts and shudders and all. This is what people mean when they say you need a stronger emotional hook, sometimes. Blooood.
Research Roundup: Topography of Michigan.
Books in progress: Caitlin R. Kiernan, The Drowning Girl.
I have told myself (and notably,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cszego has told me with a certain degree of firmness) that I am to be taking this week off. I spent the last six weeks running so hard that I wasn't just burning the candle at both ends, I'd given up on that inefficient shit and just threw the whole thing in a volcano. And I need time to recover, and sleep, and get my laundry washed and dishes done and life centred again.
Except I went to pay the phone bill this afternoon, and there was money in my bank account: The first semi-monthly instalment of the Ontario Arts Council grant I'm going to be living on for the next six months.
And I was abruptly reminded why I'm here, in my pajama pants and a floppy Ideomancer tee-shirt, under a fleecy blanket on my living room couch (it's really, really cold in this apartment today), drinking a whole pot of rooibos at three in the afternoon. Why nobody's rushing me, and everything's quiet 'cept the washing machine. What I am here for.
It didn't feel like guilt, or pressure. It felt like mission. Like...vocation.
So, y'know. Words. Feels good.
On Roadstead Farm
Words today: 450.
Words total: 18,900.
Reason for stopping: That's combing back through the first chapter and adding the things that need adding. Also, it is cold in here and I can't feel my fingers. And I need to make some dinner.
Darling du Jour: There's a trick to seeing double: the thing you half-remember and the thing walking toward you, moving side by side against the sunset as if they were hand in hand.
Words Hallie Won't Admit to Knowing: N/A.
Mean Things: Taking all the emotional content I had lurking about in the subtext and slamming it right onto the page, fears and doubts and shudders and all. This is what people mean when they say you need a stronger emotional hook, sometimes. Blooood.
Research Roundup: Topography of Michigan.
Books in progress: Caitlin R. Kiernan, The Drowning Girl.
I have told myself (and notably,
cszego has told me with a certain degree of firmness) that I am to be taking this week off. I spent the last six weeks running so hard that I wasn't just burning the candle at both ends, I'd given up on that inefficient shit and just threw the whole thing in a volcano. And I need time to recover, and sleep, and get my laundry washed and dishes done and life centred again.Except I went to pay the phone bill this afternoon, and there was money in my bank account: The first semi-monthly instalment of the Ontario Arts Council grant I'm going to be living on for the next six months.
And I was abruptly reminded why I'm here, in my pajama pants and a floppy Ideomancer tee-shirt, under a fleecy blanket on my living room couch (it's really, really cold in this apartment today), drinking a whole pot of rooibos at three in the afternoon. Why nobody's rushing me, and everything's quiet 'cept the washing machine. What I am here for.
It didn't feel like guilt, or pressure. It felt like mission. Like...vocation.
So, y'know. Words. Feels good.
