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Write Every Day
Is it true that I haven't written a word on this manuscript for ten days? Holy ghod; I'm such a slacker. So not the way to write a book. Write every day! How hard can that be?
Gah.
I wrote today -- not enough to make up for my vacation, obviously, but words in a row, yay. Or something.
Hexapuma spent most of the day in the cat bed against the baseboard heater in the kitchen. We coaxed him out a little while ago, concerned that we hadn't seen him take any water today, not to say food. Once he was out, he did have a drink and wandered groggily around the house for awhile, finally lighting on the bed where his favorite Fleecey Thing (formerly Sharon' favorite fleece house-sweater) was, and collapsed on it to have a nap. Poor small furry person. I feel for him, but about the only thing I can do for him is bear him company, make sure he's hydrated, and hang on 'til the drain comes out, first thing Monday morning.
Mozart and Scrabble are both being very clingy. Neither one has smacked or yelled at Hex -- which, in Scrabble's case, at least, is really extraordinary. Mozart occasionally tries to have a go at cleaning Hex's head for him, but gets baffled by the cone and stops. He -- Mozart -- spent most of the day on my desk, stretched out with his head next to (with occasional forays into "on") my keyboard, purring. When I leave the desk -- to, say, move the wet clothes from the washer to the dryer -- he makes little weepy noises and is only content when I come back and start typing.
I guess Hexapuma's recuperation is being hard on everybody.
February can get done with any time, now.
To the person who sent the unsigned thank-you note from Seattle: You are very welcome; and thank you.
Edited to add: Here, have a cogent post about e-piracy/digital theft. Link courtesy of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rachelcaine.
Progress on Ghost Ship
"I can't see any way out of it, if we're gonna do what we said we'd do. Right up front, we're gonna hafta stop thinking that living until lunchtime is a long-term plan."
He laughed, softly. "Until dinner, then?"
Gah.
I wrote today -- not enough to make up for my vacation, obviously, but words in a row, yay. Or something.
Hexapuma spent most of the day in the cat bed against the baseboard heater in the kitchen. We coaxed him out a little while ago, concerned that we hadn't seen him take any water today, not to say food. Once he was out, he did have a drink and wandered groggily around the house for awhile, finally lighting on the bed where his favorite Fleecey Thing (formerly Sharon' favorite fleece house-sweater) was, and collapsed on it to have a nap. Poor small furry person. I feel for him, but about the only thing I can do for him is bear him company, make sure he's hydrated, and hang on 'til the drain comes out, first thing Monday morning.
Mozart and Scrabble are both being very clingy. Neither one has smacked or yelled at Hex -- which, in Scrabble's case, at least, is really extraordinary. Mozart occasionally tries to have a go at cleaning Hex's head for him, but gets baffled by the cone and stops. He -- Mozart -- spent most of the day on my desk, stretched out with his head next to (with occasional forays into "on") my keyboard, purring. When I leave the desk -- to, say, move the wet clothes from the washer to the dryer -- he makes little weepy noises and is only content when I come back and start typing.
I guess Hexapuma's recuperation is being hard on everybody.
February can get done with any time, now.
To the person who sent the unsigned thank-you note from Seattle: You are very welcome; and thank you.
Edited to add: Here, have a cogent post about e-piracy/digital theft. Link courtesy of
rachelcaine.34394 / 100000
"I can't see any way out of it, if we're gonna do what we said we'd do. Right up front, we're gonna hafta stop thinking that living until lunchtime is a long-term plan."
He laughed, softly. "Until dinner, then?"
no subject
As far as plot and character development, well, I write for the same reason I read: to see what happens next. Outlining and advance planning for me drains the life out of a creative piece and turns writing into mere tedious typing.
no subject
Honestly? It'll probably go longer, 'cause there's a lot of Stuff to shoehorn in.
And, yeah, on outlines. Mind you, I can make an outline; it's just that the finished product will most likely bear very little resemblance to it, so it's kind of a useless exercise.
Some books -- like, hey, this book -- need a lot of note-taking, and glaring at walls, because Steve and I foolishly -- O! Foolish Authors! -- wrote short stories inside what is now the story-time of Ghost Ship. So on top of everything else, we need to do some, um, rectifying of storylines.
Whee!
Longer?
Now I have to go buy the paperback of Fledgling to add to my collection. Or possibly harass the local Hastings about ordering some for stock:)