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bear by san

March 2017

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bear by san

Miscellaneous

Neil Gaiman's speech at the Harveys is well worth reading. I love what he has to say about failure, and about the importance of making good art.

Words so far today: 2055
Words total: 64755
Manuscript pages: 267 of 273
Reason for stopping: Have to call various boys, including mine. Also, end of scene, and I haven't eaten anything yet today.
Stimulants: Tazo wild sweet orange tea
Mammalian assistance: Signy kicked me out of bed at 5:45 because she couldn't be bothered to go outside when I let the big dog out at midnight. Mebd is currently chattering at me and blocking my light.

And the whole plot just came together in eight pages. That was... weird. I had no idea what I was doing when I introduced this character, except that I needed a person in this particular job because it made sense that she would exist and be involved, and suddenly the whole book is hanging off her choices. And it works, I think.

Someday I will understand the way my brain works. Um. Actually, I'm not so sure I want to.

Reasons why science fiction is fun: I've just written a paragraph that will probably have Red Sox fans the world over hunting me through the street with pitchforks and torches and Frankenstein rakes. And it amused the hell out of me to do so.

Comments

Any sneak peeks at that paragraph, so I can pick up my pitchfork and torch now?
*snicker*

Here you go. The year is 2063, and climate change has elevated the waters of the world somewhat. NYC is behind a structure known as the New York Dike.

...and she wanted nothing quite so much as to be sitting in the bar at the hotel down the street, drinking an Irish coffee and watching Casey's testimony on the smallest of four holoprojectors.

The other three would be showing American sports hype. Some things never changed, and in New York City, acts of war still gave pride of place to Game Four of a 2-1 World Series, especially when the Yankees were one game behind. And the Havana Red Sox looked fit to lift the Curse of the Bambino. Which was especially ironic because Havana was under water, and despite having kept the name, the Red Sox were based out of Argentina these days.

In any case, the Irish coffee sounded good.
And the whole plot just came together in eight pages. That was... weird. I had no idea what I was doing when I introduced this character, except that I needed a person in this particular job because it made sense that she would exist and be involved, and suddenly the whole book is hanging off her choices. And it works, I think.

So cool!