February 23rd, 2007

spies mfu bolsheviks _ naominovik

scrotum scrotum scrotum

Neil is still talking about scrota. And children's books. And librarians. And the act of writing books in general.

I like it when he talks about writing books, which he doesn't do often, because he says smart things when he does.

And this bit here is important for reasons of things writers need to know about craft:

Ah well. My next children's book, the one I'm currently writing, is very unlikely to have any rude words in it at all, but people I've read the first few pages to tend to look at me with a concerned sort of look and say "Is this really a children's book? I mean it's scary and then that stuff..." and I say yes, and I'm sorry but that's how the book goes and there's nothing I can do about it. Of course there is -- I could cut it out and write a book that wasn't as good. And I can hope that anyone who gets past the first couple of pages will find it very hard to put down. I can hope. But I'd understand any school librarian who was worried.

And that's all for today, from the scrota rota. Time to go work on my own, scrotum-free novel, which nevertheless may still have value.
writing dust bible 'house of dust"

hey hey the donkeys say milk and honey's on the way

Observed in passing:

Yanno, I have the dance like nobody's looking thing down pat, but I'm going to have to take a mulligan on loving like it's never gonna hurt.

Tuna salad with cranberries and apples sounds like it should be tasty. But it's not.

I like writing teenagers. La:

They--she--stepped through the door, and as Rien turned to ask the monitor where she might find Benedick, she nearly walked into him.

"We should work on your situational awareness," he said. "You nearly walked into me."

She looked up at him through her fringe, and managed not to say the first thing that came into her mouth.


416 words on Pinion last night; 1348 this morning, 1764 total.  322 pages. One scene left in Chapter 24, which is all Rien.


Well, I seem to have arrived at the boom. So I write that for however long I need to write it, and then I am done, somewhere around page 400.

Thank dog for small mercies.

392.5 miles to Rivendell. I'm more or less at the Buckleberry Ferry.

I'm going to go take a bath and then put on some clothes and think about what happens next.

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criminal minds boom

they can't teach you acting. it's there in your soul. it's the same with a bank job.

cpolk reminded me of this in IM just now:

"A Fisher King wound cannot be healed by somebody else. It's not a wound to the body. it's a wound to the memory. A wound to the mind, it's... a wound that only you can find, and a wound that only you can heal.

"There's only one question that matters. There's only one really important question: can you forgive yourself?"

Somebody needs to listen to himself.

And remember to tell his team about the BOMB. Before Morgan has to put his ass out again.

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we all had our ski masks.
and sawed off shot guns.
but how do you plan for a bank full of nuns?