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August 13, 2012 Progress Notes:
On Roadstead Farm
Words today: 800.
Words total: 30,225.
Reason for stopping: The people here have kindly let me sit and type since about 12:30pm. That is a long time to take up someone's cafe table. Also, I want to go home and make orange zucchini loaf.
Motivational Threat of the Day: From the most eminent P: "If you don't write 500 words today, the Bond villain chef from Sweet Genius will--" --which he then left ominously hanging as I trembled with fear.
Darling du Jour: The stars are falling, I thought, and opened my eyes.
Mean Things: Funeral dynamics such that you don't even get to give your condolences. Missing one's best friend very badly. Finding not awesome personal friendship outside your window, but spiderbirds. Disappearing corpses; never a good sign, really. Another of those figurative things becoming literal which sucks for the person it's describing. Entropy trying to entropize your house.
Research Roundup: Suburbs of Windsor; agricultural products of Essex county; sparrow reference photos; asphodels.
Books in progress: Sean Stewart, Resurrection Man
Not enough verbiage yesterday to merit a post: maybe 100 of the words I'm logging now. Instead, there was a good solid sleep-in, French toast for breakfast, general afternoon downtime, and one (1) set of jazz at the Rex. My brain is feeling nicely fueled up.
I'm adding a new metric, the Motivational Threat of the Day, because the last few days
sora_blue has, shall we say, encouraged my writing through the application of possible consequences. Like, for example, "If you don't write 500 words, somewhere a puppy will not get to play with its ball."
This, um. Works. Also it's kind of funny as hell.
Now that P's gotten in on the act* (thaaaanks, guys), this probably merits a metric. Horrible earth-shaking threats will be reported as they arrive.
And now, I have been here all day, so I'm going home to bake.
*To be fair, I told him that if he didn't animate the amount of game characters that need animation today, a Rahonavis would come kidnap the basil plant he's growing on his balcony and put it in dinosaur salad. So.
On Roadstead Farm
Words today: 800.
Words total: 30,225.
Reason for stopping: The people here have kindly let me sit and type since about 12:30pm. That is a long time to take up someone's cafe table. Also, I want to go home and make orange zucchini loaf.
Motivational Threat of the Day: From the most eminent P: "If you don't write 500 words today, the Bond villain chef from Sweet Genius will--" --which he then left ominously hanging as I trembled with fear.
Darling du Jour: The stars are falling, I thought, and opened my eyes.
Mean Things: Funeral dynamics such that you don't even get to give your condolences. Missing one's best friend very badly. Finding not awesome personal friendship outside your window, but spiderbirds. Disappearing corpses; never a good sign, really. Another of those figurative things becoming literal which sucks for the person it's describing. Entropy trying to entropize your house.
Research Roundup: Suburbs of Windsor; agricultural products of Essex county; sparrow reference photos; asphodels.
Books in progress: Sean Stewart, Resurrection Man
Not enough verbiage yesterday to merit a post: maybe 100 of the words I'm logging now. Instead, there was a good solid sleep-in, French toast for breakfast, general afternoon downtime, and one (1) set of jazz at the Rex. My brain is feeling nicely fueled up.
I'm adding a new metric, the Motivational Threat of the Day, because the last few days
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This, um. Works. Also it's kind of funny as hell.
Now that P's gotten in on the act* (thaaaanks, guys), this probably merits a metric. Horrible earth-shaking threats will be reported as they arrive.
And now, I have been here all day, so I'm going home to bake.
*To be fair, I told him that if he didn't animate the amount of game characters that need animation today, a Rahonavis would come kidnap the basil plant he's growing on his balcony and put it in dinosaur salad. So.