it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken
matociquala

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the name she bore was flora, the lily of the west

Since thou hast all the Cards within thy hands
To shuffle or cut, take this as surest thing:
That right or wrong, thou deal thy self a King.

--Christopher Marlowe, The Massacre at Paris Act I Scene ii



Well, I've added another 246 words to Hell & Earth, gotten to about page 166, and located one section that's ripe for expansion, if I can figure out how to do it, and how to balance the POVs. On this pass through I'm mostly concerned with looking for problems, doing the small patchwork and additional exposition Jessica wanted, and figuring out what I can develop better. I don't have a POV to show one of the scenes she would like to see dramatized, and I'm going to have to figure out how to work some setup for something without giving away the reveal.

The good news is that I have all the room in the world, with this half of the duology. I can probably bring it up to 135K without Roc squeaking at me too horribly, and it's at a little over 108. (Yes, the two books are a bit lopsided. The curse of five-act structure. *g* The intermission is not in the middle.) The bad news, of course, is all the additional writing, but if I can figure out what happens in these scenes, then perhaps the additional writing will even be fun. After all, I do love these characters.

I'm also being reminded of just how much I love Marlowe's poetry. Yes, I am a sucker for bombast and cleverness and brutal irony. But damn, this stuff is underrated. And dead sexy, in spots. And can we talk about his ponyboy bondage fetish, and the thing for Icarus/angels/fallen angels/things with wings?

Radio silence tomorrow, probably, as I will be in Boston, signing at Pandemonium books at 2 pm, which means a three-hour drive each way. Come see me in Boston! Otherwise I will have driven a long way to sit forlornly behind a table and be ignored, and I will be Sad.

The cat hates me. I am never home. She threw up a hairball on the rug today while I was out to remind me of my place in the world.

Sunday, though. Sunday I am not even taking my pajamas off. I am going to stay home and eat pomegranate sorbet and work. I remember working.

I kind of miss it.

Also, I have a LOT of it to DO. BiPED!

Good news is, I get large chunks of Monday and Tuesday too, and Wednesday afternoon. Next Thursday, of course, is already declared a loss. Right, gotta buy flour and a dead bird (size small) and yams and cranberries and alcohol this week. I think I have everything else I need, except maybe green peas.



She whom thy eye shall like, thy heart shall have,
Be she as chaste as was Penelope,
As wise as Saba, or as beautiful
As was bright Lucifer before his fall.

--Christopher Marlowe, Faustus, Act II, scene i

Tags: revision wingeing, will & kit's bogus journey
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