bookkeeping

progress on the new short story, which is turning out to be really a novella:

June 30th: 259 words
July 1st: 12 words
July 3rd: 1,271 words
July 4th: 100 words

Total: 1,632 words

Verdict: Indefatigable, this story is. I just hope it's good as well.

And you're stopping because ... ? Wrists. Must be kind to my wrists, just as to my web-footed friends. :)

Comments: The story itself has cracked 8,700 words and may well reach 10k before it's done. I thought it was such a simple little story when I started. *mock-sigh*

better celebrating through personal adornment

Three pairs of earrings, each handmade by an American craftswoman (two from elisem and one from heres_luck): red, white, and blue.

Glorious Fourth to you all.

a round of applause for heres_luck

She's cleaned up my icons--and given me moles!

*happy dance*

*sweats*

Too hot to work.

Have been lying limply in front of the fan reading The Sibyl in Her Grave. No, not Caudwell's best, but I'm enjoying it.

Have a list as long as my arm of things I ought to be doing.

1. dis. sections on The Tragedy of Bussy D'Ambois and The Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois.


2. Finish The Second Maiden's Tragedy. Ditto Elizabethan Revenge Tragedy.


3. Read a list of books as long as my arm on its own account, starting with Kristeva's Powers of Horror.


4. Finish new novella.


5. Get this plot problem in DL Chapter 5 worked out and get my damn elephants moving over the Alps again.


6. Get sf story in final, polished state for resubmitting.


7. Three other short stories I should be working on.


8. Prepare stories to go out tomorrow.


9. Posts on The Nine Tailors. I haven't forgotten, I promise!


10. Balancing checkbook and other feats of domesticity.

And yet I do none of the above. It's too fucking hot. Also, a headache, which may itself be heat-related. But mostly it's just too. fucking. hot.

bookkeeping

new novella: 1,432 words

Finished! Total: 10,100 words

After dinner and a walk, it cooled down enough to work. Thank goodness. Yes, I should have been working on my dissertation instead, but I'm not going to feel guilty about it (she says defiantly). The story needed finishing.

And, dammit, I just had an idea for another one.

This always used to happen. My great bursts of creativity would come at the end of the semester, when I needed to be working on term papers. It was very reliable. And apparently that piece of mental legerdemain is still my best trick.