sleep since 6:30 AM Sunday: 3 hours
hours in deathmarch so far: 19
pages written: 23
pots coffee: 1
large mugs salabat: 1
pots tisane: 1 (licorice spice)
pots tea: 1 (black dragonfruit)
handfuls of nutritional supplements: 1 (flax oil, borage oil, assorted vitamins)
food: pretzel rod, sticky rice with soy sauce, cheese and rosemary crackers, mushroom chicken steamed bun, olives marinated in bay, greek yogurt, cherries, two persimmons with lemon juice, 3 cubes of crystallized ginger; and a big bowl of fortified whole-grain angelhair pasta with cheese. Yes, I carb up under stress.
alcohol: 3 shots of bourbon
By the way? This is what I mean when I say that I am not a fast writer, but I am dogged. *g*
Well maybe there's a God above
But all I ever learned from Love
Is how to shoot at someone who outdrew you.
This book is not a love story.
Neither is it a harpy story.
I'm not sure what it is, exactly.
Maybe it's a love story for harpies.
And that's it for tonight. We wil resume warblogging the end of the novel tomorrow morning, when you may hear Dr. eBear say...
"Oh, my God. Are we there yet?"