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March 2017



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December 14th, 2008

rengeek kit icarus

there is a crack in everything. that's how the light gets in.

I'm up, hungry, and watching the sunrise. In the last hour, the sky's gone from indigo with pale smears at the horizon to ice blue and gold, the undersides of high thin clouds revealing ripples where the slanted light casts shadows across them. It looks like our threatened rain will hold off to Monday.

Beautiful out there, even if it is 20 degrees. I'm strongly considering putting on my workout togs and heading over to the gym, because if I work out and sit in the hot tub, my gluteus maximum may stop hurting quite so much. (It's still sore from Friday's workout. ashacat really is a pain in the butt!) Also, it's been a biochemically crappy kind of two or three days, and maybe that will help.

After that, I'm unscheduled for Sunday, which means I get to work on The Sea thy Mistress. I need to figure out what work this scene I am currently looking at is doing, other than introducing a character. She needs... well, she needs some convincing of something, and in the first draft I did that bit off stage, and it needs to be onstage now. This was written when I was still figuring out that whole linearity thing, and it's rather chiaroscuro, which is to say what's here is pretty good, but a great deal is left unstated.

Monday, since the gym is a new gym, I get my first of three mandatory/free with signup meetings with a personal trainer. I'm sure I will be greatly shamed by the inadequacy of my physical condition. Sigh.

Perfection is a trap. Life is work in progress, and we manage to get through it somehow. One must be Zen about these things.

(He seems like a nice guy, though, even though ashacat did out me as a writer and give him a greatly inflated idea of my level of fame and skill.)

Speaking of fame, The Lower Hudson Valley Journal News has declared All the Windwracked Stars one of its best books of 2008. Thank you, tiny little local newspaper!

Oh, and now the sky has changed, to gray smoke over higher clouds still lit fish-scale silver from below, and through those layers chips of robin's-egg blue.
writing edda of burdens fenris wolf

me i was raised in the trickle-down days, woke up numb in the haze, saw my future in a machine...

Someday, I will write the entire book in the first five or six drafts. That book is not this book: in the first fifty pages alone of this one, I have found four complete scenes that I need to add, and four or five that I needed to expand by about fifty percent. Back in 2002, when I originally wrote this book (though the draft I am working on was not that draft) I was not so hot at things like linearity, or leading the reader through what happened. So what I have here is kind of pointillist and jittery, little glimpses of characters doing things. Even more so than the Jenny books.

That whole second draft = first draft - 15% never did work very well for me. Considering that my first drafts are undeniably sparse even now, when I have learned to write much more of the narrative on the first try, that's not surprising, I guess.

The actual prose is better than I remembered, though. It's not the way I write now, exactly, and I'm doing some smoothing out, but there are whole pages I'm not having to brutalize. Also, when I get into the part of the book that's not scattered out over sixteen years of slow build, there will be fewer interlineations I need to do.

It's definitely a scrappy bit of insight into the way my brain works, though.