Hemingway said to write about the weather.
I am now once again on Caitlín Standard Time, as I refuse to "fall back." Which makes me one hour early for everything.
Hardly any sleep again last night, and it must be a testament to the power of my insomnia that I make reference to an August Derleth story in the subject line of this entry. After sleeping only five hours night before last, last night I managed only four. I'm getting sickly again, from the work and the stress and, most especially, from the insomnia, so I suppose it's time to talk to my doctor, tweak the meds, take Vitamin D. Rumor has it today is a day off, though I doubt I'll notice.
But, there's good news. Yesterday, I wrote an astounding (for me) 2,769 words and found the place where Chapter One of The Drowning Girl ends. That wasn't quite my personal best for a single day (2,800+, I'd have to look it up), but it's damned close. And it was a relief, after only managing 259 words on Saturday. Unfortunately, now I have to set the novel aside and write a short story that has a December 1st deadline, and then do Sirenia Digest #60. But, if I'm correct about my various deadlines, I'll be able to spend almost all of December and January on the book. I'm guessing this novel will come in between 80,000 and 100,000 words, at about 10,000 words a chapter...pretty much the same as The Red Tree. So, I hope that by the end of January I'll have the first five or six chapters written.
I've not left the House now since the 30th, which makes...what? Today will be Day #9 of the Captivity. And it's far too nasty to go out today. Time feels weirder and weirder. Not sleeping, not going out, playing too much WoW and CoX, reading and reading and working and working. Not sleeping. Pills and eyestrain and dehydration and cold feet. It's all deranged, as Mr. Bowie said.
No, this is not a Happy Post.
Saturday night I began the next painting, Black Ships Ate the Sky, which is presently a furious, livid thing. This is the first largish canvas I've done in forever, 18"x24".
Spooky had to go out yesterday for more Napthol Crimson.
I think the wind means to flay the paint off the House.