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There are Days for Contemplation, and Days for Action.
Inaction in place begets Days of Contemplation—Waste; and Days of Enaction are born of a Contemptible space—sans-Taste.
May these be The Days of Enaction, lest my dry bones become as Flesh, and grow keen for the rest of my Flavour—For to Savour myself.
May these be The Days of Contemplation, for my labours must bear Fruit, and fall free from the rest of my Entreaty: Ye, to Devour me.
And We, are ever-So sparingly Savoured, these Days.
That was quick. 3K words, next chapter ready but for the fine tuning. Hum. I’m gonna sleep on it, then plant it. Having no job is interesting; very relieving.
A month trying to square a five-part chapter’s almost impossible movement…
When it was a perfect four-part movement.
I feel very intelligent today, but this development means that I should be able to finish composing her by nightfall. Infinite love <3
Haha, I can’t believe myself. With very outdated glasses, I turned Scrivener from a very pleasant rich blue with white text that doesn’t unnecessarily blind me… to white background and black letters, so I had any possibility of making out what I was writing.
I left that setting on when I could see again, and wondered why every reading experience was not only unnecessarily nauseating: but blinding me outright to the letters by making my eyes bleed. Good sign I noticed that though.
Wrote 29 while half-blind to lines; also, menopause wasn’t fun: surprisingly debilitating… question remaining is if I’ve truly managed to keep Venny’s motivations consistent throughout, and I’ll be surprised if I haven’t—needed to be able to read them to be sure
Release… maybe a couple days, active process is go. Tomorrow I take care of my mother (surgery, she’s fine—just physically affected and in need of company that doesn’t bite back to drug-words).
One thing is for sure: the scene provides some of the much needed clarity—in that it establishes a semi-permanent simple-answer to the puzzle that is people;
We like to be very certain of things, as we live very confusing lives where other people are among the most confusing aspects: why isn’t everyone like me/how can they think differently?!
My juggling: how to provide that clarity without doing any character wrong… or the chapter itself, explanation:
It’s a very strong ‘scene’ (to me: a chapter is oriented upon a frame; person enters, thing happens, emotionally/tonally-impactful end—Volta).
But inserting Venny into the middle of that scene takes more than suturing the intrusion holes: her presence reorients where the ‘scene’ must end—chapter 30; joined to 29 in a 8K word bearhemouth… or scene moves to chapter 30 entirely; likely… I’ll iterate.
I’m going to do 10 days off; so many things I want to fix, but I can’t trust my brain right now not to see one word and go off for a hundred and ten more. Self-limiting here, even if I do write a chapter, nothing’s out til at least May, and probably a solid week in at that. I’m not only obsessing: I’m utterly incoherent to myself. Anyway, back in 10, infinite love <3
Working from my phone is so slow. And prone to annoying errors, such as: I copied my revision of chapter 4 which includes footnotes, then tried to update the chapter: didn’t work, which I expected being as I’ve been working on it all day… but apparently none of my ‘updates’ for that chapter saved. And my copy… was only of the last paragraph!
It’s fine though, I’ve got it all saved elsewhere (in pieces, in so very many pieces), I’ll try to update it tomorrow.
Not having my proper glasses, or my hormone meds: real dark bags under my eyes, and my focus is hyper: deep to the point I can’t get out. I am not touching scrivener until I can meaningfully check my impulse to ‘rant’.
I’ve written a thousand words about the real world location of Eden and why it’s effectively impossible to track down… and I’ve written a thousand words on how to deal with Crabs and the associated subject of parasitism.
Bad sign. This sucks.
Gonna get the next chapter done—3,000 words, been ‘ready’ for days, in that it forms a full and perfect mirror, but I want to include the next section with the next drop because it’s better feeling, and accelerates. Either as a 2 chapter set, or as a probably 4-5K blob. We will have to see; the alternative is I stay locked up in my head, interrogating my process, and freeze on minutiae until someone says ‘Update plox’.
Green tea today.
Found the music again :) That’s good. Anyway, fix the rest tomorrow. Don’t want to infect the rest with Reginald diction.
Oh yeah, that section is working.
Have it out later today, and probably not too deep into it; depends. The next section is the scene that was crystal from the start, the middle was surprisingly good from a gardening perspective, but the beginning needs a little help, and the last might be better woven deeper, and I think it would be so I’ll do that. I’ve either got to leave his fifty one wives unnamed despite three of them being mentioned directly here… or stylise it better.
Make a servant recite their names as a song to remember their names so they don’t lose their head, or something like that.
XD Oh gosh, that reminds me well-too-much of an earlier version of this. Not the specifics, but the stakes were ‘fucking raw’! xD I have a cheat-sheet, I couldn’t make it make sense tonally in the chapter, so the burden that is 50 wives will have to wait to be voiced.
One week from today: appointment for eye exam. Excitement.
In meantime: cannibalism and necromancy.
Or I wear sunglasses inside so i can write blind but in perfect detail!
Well, that’s only 424 words. Least words I’ve written in… recent memory.
Not bad, considering I CAN’T SEE THE SCREEN. Hyperbole: I can squint and close one eye, and that's been the last few hours.
Naming 51 wives takes longer than you’d think.
Shower, sleep, take husband to work, sleep, shower, go see the eye doctor to arrange me some vision aids. Just realised I’m not very smart. I could have been using one-half of my glasses like MONOCLES!
Maybe it’s an Alaska thing, because I remember celery being my go-to fridge food in Texas and England… but the celery after it is cut here quickly develops the most unappetising white coloured crusty coating on the outside. I can’t make myself eat the last square of this veggie tray; I assumed it was snap peas—not ick sticks.
And that answers that; went home for pukey. I’m tasting broccoli bits as they float up my throat ?♀️
Couldn’t finish my usual starter pair of two case wraps. Couldn’t even clean the scene before I left o__o
Guess I’ll figure out if husband is right: can I write sick?
If I’m not gonna puke, I’m gonna write until the tingly feeling around my throat goes away.
I declare: can write while sick, just not while sleeping for close to eight hours, and being on the acute edge. The distant fringes? Not a problem.
Oog. I guess it was about time I broke my last pair of glasses. Hope I’m well tomorrow, or writing’s gonna be… 
not great. …. Not my best work, but it was the best way to break glasses: in the way they can’t be fixed, when you need them to drive, when you’re too sick to walk to the glasses-people!
Two thousand words deep into 26 when I said I was gonna chill it a lick. Well, that’s awkward—hard to say it doesn’t belong, but it feels weird being so direct with the first half. It’s the difference between being the person who survived an avalanche and being the person surviving the avalanche. Gotta think about it a little, and gonna force myself to get ahead of myself to see if sticking with my gut pays off.
Right, only got so long today, but this really shouldn’t take long, because I no longer have to butcher my brain to sell the remains downmarket.
That was a fun exercise in writing something that really pushed at my voice. More curated than usual, because I had to throw off so many of my natural rhythms to make it work—that is, that is more craft than rhetoric, and my status as primarily rhetorician shows.
Still, it was a lot of fun to do :) Really valued it, but those 1500 words took me the time 5K in Éclair gets me—though perhaps that is just down to how hard I edited it this time
That said, I feel like Raphael jabbed his three pronged pizza-baking swordbreakers up my eyeballs. Rarely does writing feel like work, but damn, that one wasn’t easy.
23 edited and good to go; added a few things, but 'the gist' was already there. A little sprinkle of anger, a little splash of waterworks, a little slice of ‘I’m not locked out here with you, you’re locked out here with me’, and a slight sexual expansion.
Got plans with a friend for coffee and a bank for money and a laundry machine for stealing 2$ from me—plus a few chores, probably be… 4 hours. Doesn’t leave tons of time for writing, but we’ll see: I gots a fun idea.
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| Homepage: | http://aToTeT |
There are Days for Contemplation, and Days for Action.
Inaction in place begets Days of Contemplation—Waste; and Days of Enaction are born of a Contemptible space—sans-Taste.
May these be The Days of Enaction, lest my dry bones become as Flesh, and grow keen for the rest of my Flavour—For to Savour myself.
May these be The Days of Contemplation, for my labours must bear Fruit, and fall free from the rest of my Entreaty: Ye, to Devour me.
And We, are ever-So sparingly Savoured, these Days.
| Series: | 4 |
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| Total Words: | 138,193 |
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| Readers: | 376 |
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