February 13th, 2007

bear by san

so I did not finish the last hundred pages last night.

I had a minor mental breakdown and drank red wine and ate dolmas and watched old TV shows and made icons, instead, and then I went to bed at 11.

I have been through something like 1400 manuscript pages of my own text in the last week or so; I guess it was only to be expected.

On the other hand, if I get these done this morning and type up the corrections for my editor, I can spend the afternoon eating grapes and goat cheese and watching Mission: Impossible and cleaning the house, and then go to the Cruxshadows concert guilt-free, assuming ice is not falling from the sky. (Rogue is allright, but I'm not dying for him.)

Oh, my god I am so sick of proofreading.

Expect intermittent whining as the morning progresses.

Oh, and the deadline for delivering Pinion has been set at April 15 for a spring 2008 release. I love the 9-month schedule from Spectra. It's a huge vote of confidence from my publishers and it makes my little heart go pitter-pat.

I wonder how long I can sustain it?
froud tapestry

it feels like you're falling, but it passes in time.

Page proofs done. And I got a glimpse of the preliminary cover art for New Amsterdam, which is pretty, and looks very much like Abby Irene.

Now, to make lunch, because my blood sugar is too low to survive typing up the correction list. And then, after that is done, I can start cleaning the house.

I know, so exciting. But I think I am going to goof off for a couple of days and get other things than writing done, if the guilt gorilla will allow it. Next week, it's back to Pinion.

Of course, the life-responsibilities guilt gorilla gets its licks in, too. And a number of those have been piling up recently....

Also, I need to buy book-cases. And then build them. And then put books in them.

Won't that be exciting?

Oh wow, my brain is fried.

  • Current Mood
    exhausted exhausted
writing gorey earbrass conscious but ver

all the lonely houses stand like monuments

Bear: 3
Manuscripts and Galleys: 0

That's right. They are all sent back. And my apartment is clean, and my laundry* is in the washers, and I have nothing to do until Thursday, when I am going to buy bookshelves and lumber, with which I will convert my bed into a platform bed.

Oh, thank God. Because the post-novel ennui is hitting like a ton of lead. (I get post-novel ennui both after a draft, and after delivering some big stage of the book.)

Sometime next week, I will reread what I have of Pinion, and finish it. Then, I will write a gonzo space opera novella called "Periastron." Then I will fall over again.

But right now? The plan is DVDs, coffee, wine, and getting snowed in tomorrow.

Also, songs about stabbing, because they make me feel better.

*washing laundry is one of those things, for me. I'm super-avoidant about it, and then I do it, and I'm always like, that wasn't so bad. I have come to the realization that I have post-traumatic stress disorder-related avoidant behavior that is triggered by washing clothes.

Isn't that the most ridiculous thing ever? When really, doing laundry isn't all that bad at all. It just stresses me out because I have associations.

Thank you, Mr. Pavlov. Don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.

The nice thing about knowing how one is broken and having a little perspective on it is that one can see just how damned silly it all is. You can't fix it, of course. But if you know where the obstacles are it's easier to get around them.

comics bone stupid stupid rat creatures


I think this week's episode of NCIS finally cured me. I mean, it's a terrible and profoundly offensive television show, and I've long only been watching for the wonderfullness that is Pauley Perrette, Sean Murray, and David McCallum.

That's just not enough anymore.

I could be spending those 22 hours a year applying lit matches to my corneas, or something.
  • Current Mood
    cranky cranky
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