2,789 words tonight, to finish the current scene in "Overkill." Longest scene ever.
Also, got my arm twisted to write an anothology story by next August, today. In my copious spare time. Still if I can get "Overkill" finished, that's my secrit projekt commitment handled until s2, except the incidental stuff.
Today's adventure in sentence-level writing:
His palms were greased with sweat.
Sweat greased his palms.
Yep. That's pretty much how every sentence I write gets written these days. Is it any wonder that the process is a little exhausting?
I'm glad I laid down good words today, because there were none yesterday and I suspect there will be none tomorrow, given how the schedule is shaping up.
The Precious! It is mine! Yesssssss!
Alas, the reason that the schedule will not be shaping up is not because the mailman brought me the Man From U.N.C.L.E. DVD box set today, though he did.
I can only imagine how the fans who have been waiting since 1964 to see some of these episodes again, uncut, must feel.
In the house of dust, roll yourself in ashes.
A pretty good review of Dust is up here. I'm still not writing the books Paul Di Filippo wishes I was writing (no Nazis in this one either) but at least my ranging shots are getting closer.
Speaking of Dust, it's a real book now. I know it is because the UPS guy brought me a case of copies today, which means that they are lso probably at A Fine Bookstore Near You. Amazon won't ship until the official release date, though, so if you honestly can't wait, hit a brick-and-mortar, or call up your local independent SFF bookstore and see if they have them.
I come to praise Caesar, not to bury him.
And because leahbobet did this, and I love it:
I come to praise gregvaneekhout, because he posts videos of jerboa.
I come to praise panjianlien, for she is richly deserving and is not praised enough.
I come to praise buymeaclue, because she reminds me of the need for persistence. And that learning things is hard.
I come to praise coffeeem, because she makes me snarf tea with snarky comments about Gordon Sumner. And also because she costs me money with her excellent taste in music.
I come to praise yendi, who finds giant cookware sales so I don't have to.
I come to praise truepenny, who sends me emails that make me laugh while I am pecking away at the longest scene ever. And who doesn't let me do things the easy way.
I come to praise jmeadows, who is a good enough Christian to make me wish I had the faith gene.
I come to praise thecoughlin, who works very hard at being good people, and taking care of those who she can.
I come to praise ashacat, who makes me work harder than I would without her.
I do not come to praise the Presumptuous Cat, who for some reason MUST sleep ON my left arm today. This does not improve my typing or my tendinitis.
There might be more later, but that's a good list for today.
Baby, it's long way down.
So yesterday I failed to climb everything I tried. This is in part because I have moved up to 5.7s, but the last one I tried was the first wall I ever sent, and I was so tired I couldn't make it, even though I could do the moves. I was just up there flailing and scrabbling and trying to hold on, and it wasn't working at all.
Le sigh. We're going again tomorrow, though, and my belaying class is in January. And then I will be a full-fledged member of the gang--albeit totally the new meat, and lousy with it--safe (we hope) to hold somebody's rope and earn my keep.
Climbing is hard work. So hard, in fact, that I'm not sure I can do it with any kind of effectiveness after two days of rest. Although that is rest punctuated by the usual gym workouts. And there was a yoga class after climbing last night, which was a good yoga class indeed--not very tricky poses, but she took us way deep and we held them forever. Or failed to hold them, some of us, being tired from all that failing to climb. Not me, of course! :-P
The local Wallingford studio is trying to drum up business, it seems. I really liked the instructor who came out (Christine, who as you can see is a climber).
This would be easier if I weighed 130 pounds, you know that? Of course, when I was a middle-distance runner, I weighed in at 155, and that was when I was a freshman in high school. So the odds of me ever having enough bone and organs removed to get under 160 again are pretty slim.
On the other hand, it is sort of making me hope I drop some weight soonish, because not only will every pound I don't have to haul up Kilimanjaro be a pound I, well, don't have to haul up Kilimanjaro, but it's also a pound I don't have to haul up cliffs and walls.
316.3 miles to Lothlorien. Still not King.