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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Rambling, mundane, one each.

There's something to be said for getting up early on weekends. It maximizes one's goofing off time. Look at me, for example: I've been goofing off for two and a half hours and the whole day is still ahead of me.

I like that.

I may edit at All the Windwracked Stars a little later today. If I do a chapter or so a day, I should have it more or less done by May 1st. I've been reading Bruce Chatwin's The Songlines and some media tie-in novels from 1965 or so. It's all good. I'm not fully recovered from my massive, three-and-a-half-month spate of intensive rewriting, and I need to get my head on straight and get my gusto back before I try to tackle Worldwired. Also, much more research reading to do, and I'm still waiting for certain plot elements to gel.

It's not so much that I have post-novel ennui, this time, as marathoner's exhaustion. I can't even figure out what happens next in my stalled pony express short story (mostly because I need to figure out the major plot twist, and it's not twisting), and yet the guilt gorilla demands a certain amountof payment. Thus the lackadaisical Stars rewrite. Although, overall, I really so can not be arsed to write anything right now, although I am poking halfheartedly at the Worldwired this-is-not-an-outline.

Why do I persist in trying to write characters who speak different dialects of English than I do? Especially ones I'm not completely comfortable with? And how the hell do you write Sydney-by-way-of-Oxford, anyway? *g* I need to spend less time on the net and more time in books, but at least my net time yesterday was productive--I read a complete novel online (bless the Baen Free Library and similar sites) and produced five critiques for the OWW.

I forgot to log my exercise Thursday night--6 mile walk, or a little shy. Nothing yesterday. Yoga or something today, I think.

Now I go read. Yay reading! Yay!
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