May 12th, 2010

writing gorey earbrass unspeakable horro

let's try to be highly evolved

I am currently excited that my black peppermint has come back up this spring. I was afraid the landlord's yard guy with the weedwhacker had killed it.

garden 2010 05 12 001

I cleverly planted the peppermint and the lemon balm in an isolated corner of the yard, hemmed in by sidewalks. They can duke it out for domination of the yard-corner, and get mowed if they pop up elsewhere.

MINT DUEL TO THE DEATH

Perhaps concrete can contain them.

Yesterday, I saw a bird of prey being harassed by a crow, and I was intrigued, because I did not recognize its silhouette or colors. A little internet research reveals that it was a black buzzard, a bit of an erratic for my neighborhood--we more usually get the turkey buzzards around here.

So that was a nifty thing.

In a minute here I need to go brazen it out with Chapter 22. As you may have gathered, I am avoidant.

But Chapter 22 needs to die today.
criminal minds diana reid crazy

(no subject)

Per kylecassidy, "10) Don't know why I buried this way down here, but the Kyle Freaking Cassidy / Elizabeth Freaking Bear Top Secret Project will be available at the Steampunk Worlds Faire. No foolin. More info as it happens."

Eeee! It's a very cool project, I promise. And hopefully not to be secrit too much longer...
  • Current Music
    The BoDeans - Fadeaway
writing gorey vast reluctance

it's a terrible love and i'm walking with spiders

standuponit needs to stop infecting me with music.

The Grail deathmarch to final draft continues.

New words: something like 1500? I dunno. Some. A lot.
Words cut: eight hundred? A whole scene and some other bits.
Pages edited: 35 (I am on page 391 of 406) 
Only chapters 24, 25, 26, and 27 remain before me, and they--unfortunately--are not much but outline notes. So it's slog, slog, slog from here to the end of the book, which I am guessing is about 15-20,000 words away. Which works out just perfectly, because
The manuscript stands at: 85,000 words, give or take. And my contract says 100,000. I think. Or something close to that.
mean things: gunfight, existential uncertainty
tyop: that black, black text began to crow from the page

I have drunk too much tea. My tummy hurts.

I am tired and going to eat something now. And maybe watch some TV before I come back to this. Or I might ignore it until tomorrow, depending on how stupid and tired I am. It depends. I have entered the end-of-book fugue, and if I am not writing, I am fretting about not writing. It's a little like stage 2 labor. Get this thing out of me now, I don't care how you go about it.

I have been livetweeting the death march, for anybody who likes watching hysterical breakdowns in progress.

Soon, soon, I will reach the scene where Tristen gets to break some shit.

It would be wrong to deny that I am looking forward to that.

Four more chapters. Four.

We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.
--Ernest Hemingway