Still, it's nice to get some formal work done. Nothing else really feels like work the way getting words on paper does. Even though rather a lot of it is work.
So now I have about 2/7 of this story, give or take, and I guess that means I really have to figure out what it's got going for it, other than a starstruck Detective Sergeant and a transparent Jack the Ripper riff. Which means back-burnering it to cook a little. But it's started, and started is better than not started, and I admit I really like DS Cuan a lot. But that's, well, not a plot. Silly plots.
It was also weird not climbing tonight. We'll see how the Week Off goes. I should try to drag myself out of bed early enough to get a run in tomorrow, which means I should be in bed now.
Yeah, I can see that's working out well.
Okay, allez-oop. Come on, little stories. Gestate in my brain, dears. You need to hurry and get big so I can write you and make you real.
And until that happens, back to the regime of packing my brain with interesting source material. Even if I am feeling rather some guilt at how few words I've gotten on paper this calender year, the fact of the matter is that creative work requires fallow periods and recovery time, if one is going to amount to anything in the long run.