And then I made tea, washed the dishes, wrote 77 words and now I'm stuck.
One of the problems with these books is that they require so much concentrated inventiveness that I run out of Cool Shit pretty fast. I basically have to create a new setting and worldbuild it every thirty pages, and it's kind of challenging. (I have a note to myself in the headers that says GONZO, DAMMIT. You can run out of gonzo pretty fast at this level.) And right now, I have to figure out what sort of gorgeous scenery [spoiler] has to cross to get to the lair of the beast, and gorgeous scenery is not my strong point, all in all.
Using my theory of working hardest when the work is most rewarded, and buggering off to do something else also needful when it's just not happening, the virtupus thing to do today would be to go do the paperwork I need to do, then box up the stuff I have to mail to people, go for a walk in the beautiful fall day to bring them to the post office, and then saddle up with my list of victims and head over to my beloved farm stand to buy cider and get some apples shipped to deserving apple victim sorts.
And then report to the climbing gym for my ceremonial ass-kicking, yes.
Walking and driving often knock story stuff loose in my head, so if I'm lucky what will happen is tonight, after climbing, I will be able to curl up with my laptop and get the next scene on paper. And it's more productive than sitting here staring at the blank page, waiting for my brain to get bored enough to generate some words in self-defense.
Of such strategies are writing careers made....