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bear by san

March 2017



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lion in winter dead

the truth is i need you and these frequencies cut me

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
277 / 400

Got through chapters 7 and 8 today, and added a net 852 words. I would consider continuing work, as I don't have to leave for climbing for another two hours and 45 minutes, but I'm so shagged out I think it would be much smarter to go lie down for an hour.

And I have in fact done my quota of work for today, and put in five hours on it, so I don't feel like I'm scifing off.

The old Bear would have pushed on regardless of exhaustion or quotas met, but the old Bear hadn't really mastered this whole sustainable effort thing, either.

A good day's work, I think. I'm on page 136, and I'm starting to feel as if I have a handle on this book, which I did not feel this spring. Actually, other than the great gaping chunks I didn't bother to write (which I'm having to go back now and shore up and fill in), this is hanging together much better than I anticipated. So basically, I just have to get throughfixing what I have the sloppy bones of, articulate them, and then make the monster roar.

The other good news is that I'm enjoying the work, in a low-key kind of way. And I'm looking forward to rewriting The Sea thy Mistress, which I have a draft of, but which is going to largely be a rip and replace. The plot stays, more or less, but most of the prose really has to go.

I might even be able to get that done by the end of January if I am extra brave and true.

And after that, well, the only thing left on my schedule is Grail. I guess I had better start trying to sell some people some books.

Which means I need to figure out what the heck I want to write.


Sustainable effort is good.

Remember Rule One: you can't write if you're dead!
Furthermore, if you *do* manage to violate rule one somehow, the results seem to be like the later works of L. R*n H**bard; which for most writers at least is not the outcome they'd really prefer.
But if I was dead, I'd have more free time...
It's so good to read these posts, because while you're still juggling eels*, last winter it sounded more like you were juggling eels with a bushel basket over your head and oven mitts on your hands while standing armpit-deep in molasses.

*All writing appears to involve eel-juggling, for certain values of eel-juggling.
Great gaping chunks? Like the ship it's set on! (this is me, running away)