February 28th, 2008

rengeek kit faustus commodorified

Alert and oriented. After a fashion.

I'm up, and the email is shoveled out, and the birds are singing, and the cat decided to sleep in the exact middle of my pillow all last night, so my neck is less than happy. Plans for today include a long hot shower, putting on some pants, making some tea, and settling in the the *&%(& page proofs until about 1:30, at which point I am meeting ashacat at the gym. We will then join netcurmudgeon for tea and whatever, and eventually archery and supper. And then I will come home and attempt to finish the page proofs tonight. If I can do that, then tomorrow, I can either take a vacation day (the only thing scheduled is a visit to my massage therapist) or I can start writing Chill, if the antsiness has gotten unbearable by then.

I'm totally geeked that I am in fact starting to feel the book-antsiness. It means my boredom with not creating is starting to overwhelm my mental exhaustion. And I know what the next two scenes I need to write are, which is good: it means that if I am lucky, I will be able to keep one scene ahead of myself in the planning process. So, watch this place for resumed writing metrics shortly, and thrashing and whining. And all the good things that come with book-production.

One reason I keep metrics is that it keeps me honest about how much work I am doing and how much time I need to do it in. And not in the sense of "I need to be reminded that I need to keep working," but "I need to be reminded that when I work I accomplish things, and that these tasks are not insurmountable." Because I tend to underestimate the amount of work I'm doing, and get very mad at myself if I'm not producing consistent large blocks of completed pages. But then I look at my tracking list, and realize that what seems to me the spotty and intermittent work I did on Dust actually resulted in a book in very short order. And I think, come on, Bear, this is not as hard as you make it out to be.

Speaking of which, it's 17 degrees out, and it's 7 am, and it's time I got myself cleaned up and got to work. Beware the page proofs! Beware!
writing rengeek stratford man

who knows? not me. we never lost control.

Ink & Steel (The Stratford Man, Part 1) page proofs: Act II, scene xx. Page 266. September, 1598, and it does feel like I have been in this book for five years, four months by now.

Actually, since I started writing it early in 2003, that's not far off. Can I go home now? Except I'm so excited that this enormous bastard is finally seeing print, I can barely contain myself. Between, of course, the slogging through the page proofs.

It occurs to me now, much too late, that it would have been fun to put scene time/location slugs in here, and really dress up the playscript thing. And it would have made it easier for the reader (and the author, for that matter) to keep track of where in the 12 and a half years the book covers we are.

Ah well.

At least we can still keep track of time by watching Will lose his hair.
rengeek fucking silence

Oh, fuck me with a chainsaw.

Somebody must have told my other editors I was trying to write a fucking novel in March, because not only do I also have the page proofs for Hell & Earth coming, I also have the CEM for All the Windwracked Stars.

I might cry.

Right.

Guys, 0.0 watch this space.

...expect a lot of whining.