October 17th, 2008

rengeek fucking silence

i was the seventh son of a seventh son.

Malcolm Gladwell with an initially interesting but in the long term somewhat tiresome examination of the difference between prodigy and genius. 

I didn't realize this was news? I've always heard that novelists and poets are supposed to peak in their fifties.

I've shoveled out my email inbox, eaten some applesauce, made coffee, and put some squash in the oven to bake with apple cider, cinnamon, and maple syrup. I love this time of year.

I guess we're to the "Open manuscript and stare mournfully" portion of the morning.

It's a beautiful cool day, and there are finally roofers out fixing the house across the street that tried to burn down earlier this summer.
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drive train _ netcurmudgeon

These gentlemen are currently working for FEMA.

via james_nicoll

Our Cities Must Fight! 

As You Know Bob, this is a civil defense film from 1951 in which hawkish, manly, square-jawed newspapermen explain to each other why mass evacuations of cities in time of war are treasonous and also, cowardly.

And the danger of lingering radiation is not very serious, since everybody will be dead.
writing dust bible 'house of dust"

you don't have to live like a refugee

Well, I have Chill open, and I have not died.

I have even looked at bits of it, and reread my notes. And I still haven't died.

I may have been taking the crazy pills while I was working on it last winter, but I have to admit, my research notes to myself are pretty funny:

(No wonder Leviathan's pissed. God killed and ate its girlfriend.)
Okay, I amuse myself, anyway.

Right. Tristen, sweetie, this time you're going to give Mama some sugar, aren't you? That's right. Be a good boy.

I think for further displacement activity, I need to find the copy of Dust I marked up and then make a playlist. As soon as I finish rereading my notes on the Book of Job.

...you know, why did it only just occur to me that using that as a source for the mythology of a book was just, like, inviting trouble?
writing edda of burdens fenris wolf

"prince tristen," the angel said, "there are complications, sir."

Well, I haven't written anything. But I have read over my notes, found my annotated copy of Dust, made up a playlist for Chill, and carried 48 hardcover books up two flights of stairs.

...Yup. All the Windwracked Stars is in the house! Which means your local bookstore, if they happen to be shelving a bit early, could have copies any day now. Official pub date is a week from Tuesday, however.

I'm so totally geeked about this one, guys. You have no idea.

I almost want to reread it. And y'all know how much I hate rereading my own work. Yeah, that's how excited I am.

Okay, now my job for the afternoon is to look at my notes in Dust and start going through the bits of Chill I do have written. Also, I appear to have figured out what the mammoth was for.

Which makes me happy, because I was afraid I was going to have to cut it.

Also, I realized what another part of the problem I was having with this book is: it's the title change. This is the first book of mine that's had its title changed by editorial fiat before I finished writing it, and it's throwing me off. (Original titles for the series were Pinion, Sanction, and Cleave; as you know, Bob, these have been mutated by editorial whim to Dust, Chill, and Grail.) So my head is trying to write a book called Chill, and since that's not the right title--as far as the lizard running the story engine is concerned--it's like trying to drive in the dark in Louisiana while steering by a map of Poughkeepsie. You keep running off the side of the road, and you're constrained from going very fast.

So I am giving myself permission to refer to this book (in my head, and possibly in this blog) as Sanction, and I will just hope that will serve as a proper road map.

Who knows, maybe someday when I'm famous, I can re-issue them under the right titles.
writing dust rengeek shakespeare

you gotta keep on rowing. you gotta feast on crumbs.

A net of 1005 words (and one new scene) added to chapters one and two of the novel formerly known as Sanction, which now have titles and everything. I am on page 29, ready to start Chapter 3 in the morning.

A good deal of this productivity can be laid squarely at the feet of Shriekback and the song "Load The Boat," which I had on annoy-the-neighbors repeat while working.

I think this first bit is coming together, anyway, and I have got two thirds of a book done. When I'm done going through the really crappy draft I have and putting in all the stuff I left out while hacking my way blindly, I wonder how much book I shall have?

Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
266 / 400

It's awfully good to be working on a novel again. It feels like justifying my existence.
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