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bear by san

March 2017



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writing edda of burdens fenris wolf

your death sits in that cage and hears you

I am amusing myself by making to-do lists. This is generally a sign that I am not actually yet ready to begin work on any of these projects, but I have recovered enough from the post-novella ennui (the bits of brain I cut off to put in Seven for a Secret and "The Red in the Sky is Our Blood" have not yet grown back, green and bushy.) to feel as if I ought to be working. Still, yesterday was productively spent on book sale stuff, and today, so far, has been much the same. I suspect that probably counts as enough worklike stuff for thse days, though I am going to take a crack at fixing that poem tonight.

How weird, to be working on a poem again after all these years.

I wonder if it's catching.


Revise the mopy Tam Lin poem. Hey, I could do that today and it would be like work.
Revise "The Red in the Sky is Our Blood"
Revise Bone and Jewel Creatures
Write "The Tricks of London"
Write "Mongoose" with truepenny (started)
Finish Chill
Write "Smile" (Bone Garden) (started)
Write "Snow Dragons"
Write "The Horrid Glory of its Wings"
Write S2 Shadow Unit episodes (looks like 2.5 right now, unless stuff changes.)


Rewrite The Sea thy Mistress
Shadow Unit S3
Write Grail


The title of your post is my favorite quote from the Last Unicorn. So many of us can't recognize our doom even when we are looking at it.
It's true.

I love that book so much. And since I am working on a story about a harpy, I decided to crib the title from that scene...
unfortunately, some of us are blind and thought it said, "your death sits in that cage and hearts you.

not sure what that says about my mind...
Never run from an immortal creature. It attracts their attention.

Celaeno is one of my favorite characters in The Last Unicorn.
Y'know, I don't know if it's teh same as your post-draft ennui, but I seem to be climbing out of a recent dryspell... well, wrote another poem yesterday for the first time in, like, a month (which, is long for me)...

It's more like I suddenly realized I had stagnated and needed a break to leave all that frustration behind; now that I don't really know where I'm going with my writing anymore, I feel much more zen about it...
Hey! Whatever works!
Hm... yes, I suppose that's true... It seems to be more than just a writerly thing, though, but in my life at large... But I guess that's the point, isn't it? That your writing is deeply connected to your own psyche, right?
the bits of brain I cut off to put in Seven for a Secret and "The Red in the Sky is Our Blood" have not yet grown back, green and bushy...

My goodness. The creative brain is a Chia Pet. It all makes *sense* now.

I try to fertilize mine with science magazines and history and things, but I'm not always sure it works.