Right now, I am The God Who Writes New Amsterdam. Later, I will be the God Who Writes Dust.
And I look up and realize that it's mid-December, and how did that happen?
I write ten hours a day, I sleep seven. I drink tea, I drink coffee. I play a little guitar. I see a few friends. I go to the gym. I make soup. I play with the cat. I go for a walk. I have a bad, lonely night and have a good cry.
I measure out my life in coffee spoons.
Except I'm not trapped in an endless cycle of boredom and middle management. The mermaid's in my bathtub and she's singing in my ear.
If only she'd scrub the grout.
The Perpetual Beginner had a problem with Blood & Iron, in that the protagonist was too much like sie mother. She's too much like a lot of people's mothers, I suspect....
Swarm of Beasts liked Carnival, and moreover, gets it. There is no joy like the joy of a writer whose readers get it. (And of course, pursuant to this early morning's post about television, it occurs to me that one of the reasons I'm hooked is that Mandy Patinkin's character--this very-well-socialized and well-meaning but consummately manipulative borderline personality with the ACoA's perfect nuanced gift for absolutely devastating cruelty--is a Liar. That's what they're like.
He's just not as well-trained as Michelangelo.
And it's underneath the moonlight passing suns
'Til your heart beats in the moonlight like a drum