Logging yesterday's wordcount today! (I didn't get this done until about 1 am, what with one thing and another, and then I went to bed.)
New words: 2514
Microsoft wordcount: 45077
Manuscript wordcount: 53000 (Chapter breaks, how I love you for inflating the hell out of my apparent wordcount.)
Deadline: May 1
Mammalian assistance: The P.C. decided I wasn't being enough fun, and went to go get stoned about halfway through the afternoon. I had great fun watching her make out with her catnip-filled zucchini, or whatever that thing is supposed to be. She's lost all her glitterballs under things again, which is usually my cue to sweep, but right now, I am deathmarching. (And you should see the state of my sink. Uck. Gross.)
Reason for stopping: Quota, chapter, tired.
Darling du jour: ruptured bulkheads frozen in twisted alloy petals like balloons captured at the moment of bursting
Tyop du jour: I'm sure I'll find one when I revise
Jury-rigging: Oh, my god. Did I actually just write lit up with a startled smile? I'd cut my hands off in penance, but I need them to climb. Nevermind, highlight it and fix it later, press on, press on.
There's always one more quirk in the character: Tristen requests that, in future, he be allowed to skip all scenes relating to dead children. I have informed him that he needs to check his contract, and also that he knew the job when he signed up.
They never believe you'll follow through.
Today's words Word don't know: viewports, karst (but it offers to correct it to "karsts"), cofarming, rebraided, jowled, cowled (I laugh at the coincidence), neurochemicals,
Words I'm Surprised Word Do Know: metronomic, tilapia
Sustenance: Dirty rice from the freezer. Freezer food: the resource that makes possible a proper literary deathmarch. Well, that and cookies.
Mean Things: ghosts from the haunted past
Other writing-related work: none
Exercise: crunches. There was climbing, too, wherein I actually finished every route I tried, including two 5.7s (with a certain amount of flailing and dogging on the rope, but I think both climbs were reproducible, which is exciting, because so far my technique for anything harder than a 5.6 has been to flounder at it until I either get too tired, or, luck out and find some way up that I can never seem to find twice.) after which my forearms and triceps hurt so much I just did a 5.5 and two 5.6s on the slab. Also, I did some sun salutations to stretch out. Need to do more yoga. Maybe Saturday.
Good meatpuppet. Brave meatpuppet. You did good.
(Please note, use of "meatpuppet" here is highly ironic. I am all too aware of the fact that the body knows all sorts of stuff it doesn't tell the brain, and that the entire brain has all kinds of information it never tells the neocortex, and that the neocortex itself does tons of work it doesn't bother telling that little patch of the left brain that calls itself I and puts on airs. It's a little bit like the Reagan administration: we just give the big guy plausible deniability by never letting him find out anything that might disturb his afternoon nap and jelly bean snack.)
Miles to Lothlorien: 245.2
Guitar practice: In addition to "Yellow Submarine," I am learning "Breakdown." Which of course is in A minor, because it seems that if I like a song, it will inevitably be in A minor. I know more songs in A minor than anybody needs. But it is also the key that best suits my (limited, untrained, breathy-chick) voice.