February 19th, 2007

writing dust rengeek shakespeare

slow this morning...

but up, and working. The tea is made, some of the email is shoveled, and I am staring at the next scene in Pinion and thinking about how to get into it.

So close to finished with the draft. So close.

Time to get obsessed with it, so I can get 'er done.

All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

--Shakespeare, Cymbeline 4.2

In other news, I have cover flats for Undertow (gorgeous); got paid for various things over the weekend, so the cat and I are fed for the next sixth months (yes, writers learn to budget!); and just heard that Carnival made the Locus supplemental best seller list at #14 for January. Also, the cat is glad to have her monkey back. One thing about bringing her to Mom's house when I am away: she's so happy to come home that she forgets to throw fits at me for the next week over abandoning her.

Tomorrow I need to do a great deal of bill paying and banking behavior.

Various blog reviews, and one, ahem, from someplace else.

The Pig War on B&I, briefly and appreciatively.

darkmagess on Hammered, less briefly, and appreciatively. Yeah, I made the mistake on the Franglish of assuming that everybody would do what I do when confronted with an unfamiliar language in print, and try to puzzle it out from cognates. Memo to Bear: Everyone else is not Bear.

shewhomust liked Blood & Iron a lot.

lil_shepherd didn't like it at all, but seems to have liked Carnival fine.

And then there's a review of Carnival at the Washington Post, by none other than our very own Gwenda Bond. Who also reviews catvalente's book, Peter Watts' book, and Mary Rosenblum's book.

I feel loved.

Best line of Boskone? Alexander Jablokov, who, from the audience of the American Fantasy panel, noted that while persons from other parts of the US may write comedies of manners, New Englanders write comedies of ethics.

Which is, of course, exactly what this New Englander does.

I feel taxonomified.

And now, 3 pages, or bust.
sf sapphire and steel kiss (darkness)

the rain can't wash the blood away

803 new words on Pinion this morning. Tough going, for some reason, but done. Balancing all these tipping points is hard, and so is getting back in the saddle. This is the point where the book has to come together, or fall apart. And it's always in need of a certain amount of delicate negotiation to pick over. Also, I've been over three other manuscripts since the last time I looked at this, which is a good way of scrubbing a book from your head, so I'm trying to start from scratch.

Also, I think my laptop battery is dead. Alas! Not that I ever use it unplugged.

Total wordcount for the year: 65,068. Total on the book: 289 pages.

399.6 miles to Rivendell. I'm going to go get cleaned up and dressed, make some Thai curry, and play a little guitar while I think about the next scene. Maybe I will walk down to the bank today. I can make deposits even if it's closed for the holiday, after all.
bear by san

Robert's Rules. (Book Report #19: Daniel Silva, The Kill Artist)

I like Daniel Silva. He's like John LeCarre, except occasionally somebody lives through the book.

This one is a typical Silva offering--generally well-written in a very focused omniscient, with the occasional unfortunately caricatured secondary character but, for the most part, a good sense of why people do what they do and what drives the world and enough thematic depth to be satisfying, though it's not going to change anyone's heart.

He is very good at presenting both sides of any political argument as equal and necessary evils, and he does not feel the need to justify people's actions while he is explaining them. His characters are all broken and driven and scarred. He's very matter-of-fact about treachery and evil and the banality of it all.

And he is not scared to mess people up.

This is a book about games and layers and lies and love. Most of all, about love.

Oh, and restoring paintings.

In other news, I move to ban the phrase "was violently ill" and all its variants from literature.
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and I'm gone like I'm dancing on angels


I was right when I decided that Dust is a big book chunked up into thirds.

I can tell, because I just hit The Dreaded Middle Of The Book.

On page 295 of Pinion. As I am being faced by a bad moment of "but wait, this makes no sense!" combined with a certain amount of  "So how do I tie up most of these plot threads while leaving enough of a hook behind for the next book to railcar into?"

Yeah, Sanction is going to be fun.

(Just keep throwing cool stuff at the page and maybe nobody will notice that you have no freaking idea what you are doing. Also, remember that your subconscious is much better at all this than your front brain, and it knows how the story should go, and if you give it a chance it will find ways to tell you.)