I've been sitting here doing some mildly grim math. I'm also trying to decide if "mildly grim" is anything like being "a little pregnant." Anyway, looking back over the month of January, I see that the last time I had a successful day off was on Tuesday, January 4th. I tried to have another the 17th, a Monday, but I hardly got out of doors before the anxiety kicked in, and that day earned an L. So, I have essentially been without a day off since the 4th, the day we saw True Grit. Over those twenty-four days, I've written a total of 26,929 words on The Drowning Girl: A Memoir. And those aren't rough-draft pages. There will be a polish before it goes to my editor, but those are pretty much final-draft pages. That's an average of 1,122 words a day. However, I didn't actually write on every single one of those days: there was the failed day off, plus three days when I had non-writing writing work to attend to. That means 26,929 words written over nineteen days, and an average of 1,417 words per day. Take into account that about halfway through this my meds stopped working and I had to have the levels adjusted...and it's no damned wonder I feel like ass. Still, I've got to finish Chapter 5 and get Sirenia Digest #62 out before I can have a couple of days off, so I likely have at least three or four more days of this ahead of me.
Yesterday, I wrote 1,518 words on Chapter 5. It wasn't at all the scene I'd meant to write, but a scene I hadn't even suspected existed. This sort of thing is one reason I can't do meaningful synopses before I write a book: the story unfolds as I write it. Also, after yesterday, I've decided there will be a note at the beginning or the end of the novel that says something to the effect of This is the most personal novel I've ever written. That doesn't mean I expect you to like it. That only means it's the closest I've ever come to telling the truth. A small and unobtrusive note.
What I wrote yesterday made Kathryn cry, and I always take that as the highest compliment.
Last night, we watched Anton Corbijn's The American (2010; based on Martin Booth's novel, A Very Private Man). This is definitely one of the best films of 2010. It's the sort of quiet, brooding thriller that was common to the seventies, but which we rarely see these days. The cinematography and score are astounding. Clooney is at his very best. The film creates smothering paranoia, in part from its use of space, of perfectly composed wide-angle shots, vistas, landscapes. Corbijn is fast becoming one of my favorite living filmmakers. See this film, and also Control (2007), if you've not already.
Later, there were a couple of hours of WoW. We've finally shaken off the long nightmare of Uldum. I still can't believe that something like two thirds of the non-dungeon quests in that beautiful region were wasted on a bad Raiders of the Lost Ark spoof. It's almost unforgivable. Anyway, we moved along to the setup for the Twilight Highlands, which, at least for now, promises to take itself a lot more seriously than the mess in Uldum. Also, Greely the Goblin is one of my favorite WoW characters ever, and there better be an action figure. I never thought I'd have a goblin crush.
Spooky read me The Lorax before I fell asleep.
As I said on Facebook, I spent a good bit of yesterday in a detestably melancholic, nostalgic mood, mostly missing 1994 and Athens, Georgia...people, places. Lots of things I can't go back and visit, because they aren't there anymore.
And now, the platypus says no more dilly-dallying.