throw another bear in the canoe

To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:

By the way, it's a rule of literature. Satan always gets all the best lines, even in bad fiction. And he does it to all of us. From "Oh, no. God is love, and I don't love you" to "All right, you old bastard, the sunsets are bloody marvellous" and "But Faustus, in hell is all manner of delight." (actually, Mephistopholes gets most of the really good lines in Faustus, but that's because Lucifer's barely in it.)

It's almost enough to make you believe in the Devil. Or at least, that he has the best agents.

Progress notes for 3 April 2005

Carnival

New Words: 1,148
Total Words: 29,329
Pages: 136

29,329 / 120,000 (24.0%)

Whiskey & Water

New Words: 1,347
Total Words: 16,885
Pages: 79

16,885 / 160,000 (10.0%)

I said yesterday:
The book is a train; it's going where it's going, and God help you if you stand in its way.

Just keep telling yourself that, Bear. of course, I generally feel like Gromit, frantically laying track in advance of my own wheels--and every so often having to run back and rearrange what I'm already laid.

My subconscious thinks women's hair is an important symbol in Whiskey & Water. My subconscious needs to get out more.

Ah yeah, that's part of why Whiskey & Water is shiny, right now. I had forgotten how much I like these characters, especially the difficult ones, like Morgan and the Morningstar. And this is one place the omniscient voice is lovely, because I can dip into the heads of characters I've only gotten to see from the outside before. They have to get to the back of the bus, though, because there are people in Carnival who need face time, and it would be awfully nice if they would start developing a little personality rather than being random scenery for Vincent to scintillate at.

[13:10] matociquala: So, if you were a Celtic goddess turned swan maiden turned Christian convert turned tithe to Hell,
[13:10] matociquala: daughter of Llyr and aunt of Manannan, currently living on the north coast of Scotland after some time in America...
[13:10] matociquala: where would you go, if you wanted to talk to the Devil?
[13:10] stillsostrange: I would expect housecalls.
[13:10] matociquala: So, you know, drop him an email?
[13:11] matociquala: "Nick, we need to chat about the wolf."
[13:11] matociquala: "Come over; I made ginger biscuits."

Hmm. I think I mentioned Master Marley's obsession with things with wings back in 2003. It hasn't gotten any better.

I'll frame me wings of wax like Icarus
And o'er his ships will soar unto the sun,
That they may melt and I fall in his arms.

Reason for stopping: End of scene on one, convenient place to pause on the other
Mammalian Assistance: spurned!
Stimulants: Prince of Wales black tea (not to be confused with Prince Charles black tea. See previous rock.)
Exercise: gothercise
Mail: nomail
Tyop du jour: the kittens were compounded
Darling du jour: Swan wings spread moonlit over the tossing manes of the sea, until Fionnghuala set one white narrow foot on a sharp-stoned strand, and came to America again.
Books in progress: Ed Sanders, Tales of Beatnik Glory; Neal Stephenson, Quicksilver
Interesting research tidbit of the day: best ginger biscuit recipe evah. (the BBC, animated iguanas, and Kinky Friedman. Go. Read. Ogle.)
Other writing-related work: nada. I'm going to kick my feet up and read for a while, and maybe indulge in a ration of Scotch.

The whole world looks small tonight
And you said we could never really fly.
If you're right, and we're nothing at all...
Tell me why do you keep thinking that you're falling?

(Apparently, the trick is to paste the word meter code directly into LJ, rather than trying to use my client, which mangles the code somehow)