Colder. It's going to be very much colder soon. But we are nearing the end of January, are we not? This new year is already racing past, so even this Rhode Island winter much eventually give way to wretched Cold Spring.
I'm sleeping so much, it's sort of frightening. I'm actually averaging about eight hours a night.
The past two days have been spent wrestling with the manuscript of Cherry Bomb. I set it aside on December 5th, and there was talk of splitting it into two. But that's not going to happen. Which, I have to admit, comes as a relief. Only now I have to make it work as a single ~70k-word long novel. Which it doesn't. I read Chapter One aloud to Kathryn, and then, yesterday, I tried to do the same with Chapter Two, but I couldn't get past how silly the whole thing is. How did I ever convince myself that writing these silly fucking books was a good idea? It doesn't matter. It only matters that I finish this one and put it all behind me. My agent, trying to console me, or encourage me, or whichever, said, "Kill everyone. You're good at that." Which, actually, was sort of the plan all along. Yesterday I literally hurled Chapter Two from my office out across the kitchen. I came close, as I said on Facebook, to tossing it and the rest of the ms. into the fireplace and then erasing it all from my hard drive.
So, that's where I am this grey morning.
I've wasted two months. Well, not entirely. At least I wrote "The Peddler's Tale." At least I did that much.
I've been spending entirely too much time in rp. I'm not surprised. It's a hell of a lot easier being Isobel just now than it is being me. Still, probably time to step back for a week or so. The Secret World will turn just fine without her.
Pretending,
Aunt Beast