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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fear finds its place in you. the water will take you.

So I've got bread in the robot, two racks of ribs on the grill (doing the real four-hour slow cooking with regular applications of soaked apple wood; probably driving the neighbors to riot by now.) doused in Moroccan spices, and soon I'm going to start brown and wild rice and roast up some red peppers. September is not the cruellest month.

My brain-cleansing has ended. Really, I should have ended it yesterday, but climbing was more seductive, and anyway we got to see peregrines out at the crag. So now the dog and I are sitting out on the porch watching the grill. We're both hard at work: I'm going over the first 3/4th of Range of Ghosts to push it into shape so it can bear the weight of the ending, and he's making sure no squirrel or dove enters the boundaries of his domain.

The reason I'm talking to you now is because I've paused in my progress on page 27, where the first draft consists of half a scene and the note to myself to find some bit of business to put here that establishes a secondary character as charming and charismatic, and now I need to figure out what bit of business that is. Maybe I'll borrow something from the Sol Todd playbook. (Probably not the bit about the Argentinian Racehorse, though.)

So I'm blogging while I think.

It's a nice thing that at this point in my career I have enough command of my craft to look at a scene that's not pulling its weight and have an idea of exactly what it is I need to do to fix it. The what, I mean--obviously, I'm still working on the how. Or I would be doing it, rather than nattering on about doing it. That's the difference between craft and art, I guess--once upon a time I would have known something was missing, but not what or how to fix it. Now I know all of those things, but I still have to wait for the old right-brain to kick up the magic.

In the meantime, I guess I'll go have a fiddle with the draft on the grill, because I think the fire's a little too slow.
Tags: eternal sky, food porn, quotidiana, range of ghosts, writing craft wank
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