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

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there's no such thing as an original sin.

140.4 miles to Lothlorien. I have just been attacked by Wargs. Oh noes!

It's thematically appropriate, because I have finished the revisions on By the Mountain Bound (aka Edda of Burdens #2), and delivered them to Beth-my-editor.

Poor gothy wolf boy. He just cannot catch a break.

He gets some good sentences, though. I like this one: I hear myself laughing like a stranger in a darkened room.

I am so excited about this trilogy I'm pretty much bouncing in my chair. Speaking of another set of books I've been working on since time immemorial. I think the oldest Muire stories date from 1993 or so? And there's just so much about them I love. Cold wastes and wolves and Norse mythology twisted around like a snake gnawing its own tail and love and betrayal and the undulating borderland between the earth and sea.

I had also forgotten just how bitchy this book is about the Aesir, and I'm really enjoying being reminded. Yes, I am a total Vanir partisan. Odin and his cronies were imperialist bastards.

One more to go, just one more. *bounces*

I can barely wait until you guys can read these things.

Now, since it looks like there will be no archery tonight, I am on deathmarch until Sunday. I want to finish Seven for a Secret, which I will be getting back to work on tonight, after I drink this here celebratory Dogfish Head IPA and practice guitar. And when that is done, I have an introduction to write for greygirlbeast's Coming Thing, and after that two columns, one for Subterranean and one for Storytellers Unplugged.

Oh, and Sol is agitating for a vignette, but he's going to have to give me some actual content for it before I write it.

After that, the only onus on the summer is "The Red in the Sky is Our Blood," which I am still stalling on, and, er... Chill. Yep. Looming there, wanting to be written. Guess I know what I'm doing in July and August, ya.

I am the Grey Wolf. My bindings are not lightly parted.
Tags: edda of burdens, honeydew, the writer at work

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