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Snatching Jaws from the Victory of Defeat!

Fuck you, Monsieur Insomnia. You and the Nightmare you rode in on. I'm not sure how little sleep I got this morning. Not enough. I was up at 9:30ish and let Spooky sleep until 10:30, because gods know she needs the energy to put with my dumb ass all damn day.

I am just glad to say that yesterday was any sort of writing day at all. I did 1,127 words on Chapter Two of The Red Tree, and I can now at last see the end of the chapter. I made it —— with Spooky's help —— over the speed bump that's been hanging me up, that being two excepts from the "anthropologist's" manuscript that Sarah Crowe discovers in the basement of the old house. An account of one William Ames, from Weymouth, Dorset, who ran afoul of the book's namesake in 1840. With luck, today I'll finish the chapter and spend tomorrow at the library (Brown University or the Athenaeum) preparing for Chapter Three.

The remainder of yesterday was passed attending the sundry things that needed attention. Hygiene, because one must bathe, even when one is a writer. I hung four pictures in my office, and it's good not to have blank walls. There's still room for many more. I waded through some backed up email. I read more of Fraser's book on the Triassic. Spooky slew some Chinese takeout for dinner (beef fried rice and egg rolls), and then we had to drive over to the east side of Providence, to both Whole Foods and the Eastside Market, because we were cursed with Bad Market Karma. How hard can it be to find fresh basil and ground chicken? Mainly, we only went out because we were out of coffee, but then decided to take care of groceries for dinner tonight. There was a golden sickle of waxing moon low in the southwest. We didn't make it back home until about 10 p.m., and I abandoned this realm for Second Life. The rp was better than average (my thanks to Omega, Joah, Cerdwin, Brit, Artemisia, Lorne, and Denny). It ran late, until 3 ayem or so. That was yesterday.

The platypus says this would be a genuinely spectacular day to subscribe to Sirenia Digest, if you've not done so already. And whatever the platypus says, I have no choice but to repeat. You really have no idea how uncomfortable it is to sit in this chair all day with the fore paw of a monotreme up my butt. Fortunately, the venomous spurs are on hisherit's hindlimbs.

And I suppose that's all for now. The words are waiting for me.

Comments

( 3 comments — Have your say! )
robyn_ma
Jul. 7th, 2008 03:38 pm (UTC)
'You really have no idea how uncomfortable it is to sit in this chair all day with the fore paw of a monotreme up my butt.'

Wasn't that a Smiths song?
greygirlbeast
Jul. 7th, 2008 03:39 pm (UTC)

Wasn't that a Smiths song?

Very probably.
sovay
Jul. 7th, 2008 04:54 pm (UTC)
that being two excepts from the "anthropologist's" manuscript that Sarah Crowe discovers in the basement of the old house. An account of one William Ames, from Weymouth, Dorset, who ran afoul of the book's namesake in 1840.

Cool.
( 3 comments — Have your say! )