it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken

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there is no ghost in the machine. there's just you and me.

This is a new icon, which is from a 9th century Irish manuscript, and says "Massive Hangover" in Ogham.

Actually, it says, "Ale has killed us," but it's the spirit of the thing.

I've written around 16000 words in the past seven days, and I'm unbelievably wiped. But I've delivered one of the immediately pressing projects, at least in draft, and now Tomorrow Is A Rest Day.

I have finished a whole pile of stuff for Worldspinner this week, and also done a ridiculous amount of promo writing for the Karen Memory launch, which is only a week and two days away! (And this Tuesday, during which we are expecting a snowpocalypse that should make up for not getting almost any snow at all this winter, is at long last the trade paperback of Shattered Pillars, so yay, buy my book.)

At least it's a day without too much typing. Because I have to work out the plotlines of two stories--the sargasso lighthouse story and the robot termite story--which are the next two deadlines. Also, half-marathon in Texas next weekend, which due to a combination of insufficient world reserves of willpower, work, travel, and a kind of nagging but not very severe virus the couple weeks after New Year's, I am totally unprepared for.

And then I have Boskone, and after Boskone truepenny will give me back the welves (casacorona has come back with an edit letter, and Sarah gets the first pass, and then it goes into the secret grinding heart of Tor Books to be made into hardcovers)

Sometimes, you just have to get your teeth in and keep gnawing and gnawing and gnawing until you gnaw the heart out of the thing. Like a fox with a really big Spartan to get through.

Since it's been a while since we shared some chatroom antics, here they are:

fadethecat: *squints* I wonder if someone holding a grief with their recently-grieved chest is crying in their grieving heart, or if someone holding a grief with their recently-grieved chest is drying up in their grieving heart.
fadethecat: Oh, Hesiod.
hawkwing_lb: *votes for drying up their grieving cavities*
fadethecat: (For extra fun, none of those three iterations of grief look remotely the same. No one does synonyms like the Greeks!)
fadethecat: Well, the textbook translation agrees.
fadethecat: I just thought crying made more sense.
hawkwing_lb: grief is conceived of in the medical writers as astringent, so.
hawkwing_lb: drying!
hawkwing_lb: (ancient Greeks: weird.)
matociquala: Oh, THAT'S what's in those little packets.
matociquala: No wonder it says DO NOT EAT.
hawkwing_lb: do not eat grief.
hawkwing_lb: leads to indigestion
Tags: writer at work

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