A Meerkat's Bolthole

Laura Anne's news:

DOWN INTO DARKNESS is in editorial hands. Editor and I have discussed cover ideas. Outline for #6 is next on the agenda.
Also, rumor is that STAYING DEAD and CURSE THE DARK have gone into reprints. If anyone sees one on the shelf, sing out and let me know!

'Anna's' news:

Revisions to THE NIGHT SERPENT are thisclose to being done (tomorrow, probably). The next proposal is on its way into editorial hands. Now, we wait. Wheee. Not.

Freelance: Onward to the copywriting portion of the gig. That, and a trip to the post awful, should round the day out nicely.

Also, Best Exchange of the Day, as heard out the window:

"I think you need to rethink your think."
"You think?"

Because occasionally there must be more than Work, no matter how much you love it, I spent the past 48 hours doing absolutely nothing business-related (okay, there was some post-dinner discussion Saturday night that veered on writerly, but we were drinking a 1997 Barolo so I don't think it should count). There was relaxation, and eating, and shopping, and shopping-enablement, and I am now so off schedule I may just have to die.

But I shall die slightly mellowed out. ;-) At least until I start reading the news again (ETA: oh well, that didn't last long).

And my new life-quote comes from David Steinberg, on the secret of having a successful, multi-faceted career: "I just kept working, and I never looked too far forward or too far back."

an Update:


Down Into Darkness: A Retrievers Novel

And a Meme:

Turn to page 123 in your work-in-progress. (If you haven't gotten to page 123 yet, then turn to page 23. If you haven't gotten there yet, then get busy and write page 23.) Count down four sentences and then instead of just the fifth sentence, give us the whole paragraph.

( DOWN INTO DARKNESS )


( THE NIGHT SERPENT )


Also? I think it should be required that George Clooney contribute to the gene pool. Really. Just sayin'...

Spent the day hiding from OhMyGod winds (40+mph, starting at 3am when I thought my bedroom window was going to blow in) and OhMyGod cold (the high was, I think, 15 degrees) in M's office, huddled next to a space heater and trying to get People Not Like Thee and Mee to behave like they were ever taught manners. Also, working with BaseCamp, which I'm deciding I quite like: project management software that seems to actually do what it's supposed to do, and nothing else.

And then came home, cooked up some pork ribs, and settled in, fully intending to get back to the read-through for DOWN INTO DARKNESS.

The cats had other things in mind. Apparently, being left ALONE! with the WIND! all day put them on edge, and they needed mommy-time.

We finally worked out a compromise, where I get to do a few pages, and then we'd play, and then a few pages... So I'm sitting on the sofa, lap desk on, well, my lap. Pandora, as is her habit, tried to burrow under the lap desk to get at my lap. Boomer, sitting on the sofa next to me, was clearly wondering what the fkcu Pandora was doing, and so stretched around my knee to stick his head under the lapdesk and find out what's what.

At which point I started to laugh so hard, they both stalked off in a huff.

(they're both back on the sofa now, but studiously ignoring both me and each other)

I'd probably get more done if I didn't share space with these two. But I'd be so bored.

Ah, they both seem to be asleep. Back to work I go!


(for the record, it's currently 10 degrees outside, with a wind chill of -2. Welcome to almost-spring in New England...)

Down Into Darkness: A Retrievers Novel

I am at threequarterbookitis. And I am fkcuing brilliant. In case you missed that in my previous post.

*buffs fingernails*

(I'm sorry, was that too in your face? Tough. It's my LJ, I'll pat myself on the back if I want to.)

Of course, now I am, plot-wise, at the last chapter, and the last chapter -- as those of you who've been here for earlier books know -- doesn't get written until everything else has been slapped into shape.

So tomorrow morning the manuscript gets printed out, and I disappear into the dread First Readthrough, which means I mark up everything stupid I screwed up, every bit of plot buildup I forgot to do, every inconsistent or unfinished worldbuilding, etc and try to figure out how to fix it.

Believe me, when I'm done with that, I won't feel at all brilliant. Or even competent to sign my name on a parking ticket.

(send chocolate. or hugs. or chocolate hugs.)

things that break my brain: "Catwoman. MZB's Renunciates. Compare and Discuss." Damned if it doesn't work.

A walk into town and back again cleared my head of many things, and refilled it with many other things. That is what a good walk in falling snow should do, no? I have realized that everyone in the cosa nostradamus has father issues. Specifically, father-abandonement issues.

So much for everyone who wants to analyze the writer via her work. My dad's totally a present-and-accounted-for type. I have issues, lord knows -- I have subscriptions -- but that's not one of them.

The two (as far as I can remember) mother characters, on the other hand, are imperfect but well-meaning and loving. So either my mom and I are cool, or there's major amounts of repression going on there.

(*hi mom! sorry mom!*)

and speaking of mom:

evilmeer: just hit 2,900 words for the day.
evilmer: I really should stop and do other stuff
momgilman: sounds like you've done a marathon.
evilmeer: pretty good day, yeah.
evilmeer: Just need to keep to the minimum, rest of the week
evilmeer: really need to do 7,000 a week, minimum.
momgilman: you are my hero, you know that?

End result? 3,100 words and another chapter closer to threequarterbookitis. I'm going to run out of plot before I hit word count. That's okay. There are "add this earlier, damn it!" notes littering the side of the road that need to be dealt with before I can sign off, anyway.

Plus, another chunk of editing nailed to the desk. Yay me.

And now there is a hot shower and a glass of red wine waiting for me. And a Great Performances special on Sting's "Song from the Labyrinth," and why the HELL do I not own this already?

Down Into Darkness: A Retrievers Novel

I wrote a thematic turn for Wren that dropped her into the pit and gave her the means to crawl out again, if she will only just think about it. It's the kind of thing you want to crow about to someone, and have them nod their head and say 'yes, you're right, that's really clever. well-done, you.'

Alas, the felines are less than impressed. :-(

At this point, I begin to feel not only that it will never be finished, but that there's no point to even trying. Not the 'it sucks why bother' morass we all know and abhore, but just this sort of...lethargy.

Oh god, I have midbookitis. The only cure is to get to threequarterbookitis. Bugger.

*goes off to brew another pot of tea*


(And AMC is so coming through for me today: Bridge on the River Kwai and Lawrence of Arabia, back to back. Because there's no Epic like a Pretty British Epic... "This is a nasty, dark, little room. We are not happy in it.")

I now know how this section ends. And what the escalation point is.

*is pleased*


What did writers do before indoor plumbing and decent water pressure?


And now, clean and smart, I must go buy bread and milk. Such excitement.

I've been in New England too long. Last night, just before going to bed, I wrote an entire scene where, I swear to god, the primary means of communication between two males was variations of "Yah." While sitting in perfect porch chair harmony.

And wasn't I supposed to be taking last night off? I'm sure that, after sending THE NIGHT SERPENT off to my betas and CGAG, that was the plan. So how did I end up typing three pages of laconic but emotionally weighted dialogue between man and demon?
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Meanwhile here in the spare freezer we call New England, the weatherfolk are keeping a running tab of how many days it's been since we've seen the upside of freezing (32 degrees). So far we're at five (5). They're predicting another ten (10) days before we crack the ice ceiling.

It's 12 degrees this morning. I'd really like some snow to go with this, please? Really.
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However, I did get a warm fuzzy this morning: an email from a former writer of mine, which said in part:

"Like other writers you helped, I thought you were a wonderful editor and remember you fondly. Having looked at your website, I (am) bowled over by all the things you're doing and wish you many more years of success, good coffee, and happiness."

*has fuzzies* Sometimes I wonder if my previous life actually, y'know, accomplished anything. For this one person, at least, it did...
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Today I am supposed to haul my backside downtown for a lunch date. See above re: temperature. D'y'think I'll lose Yankee Points if I reschedule for Spring?
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In other, totally unrelated news, the Wal-Mart discrimination case is moving ahead - they lost their bid to have the claims dismissed (Wal Mart is being sued for, among other things, consistently paying female employees less than male employees for the same jobs). Needless to say (but I will anyway) I hope Wal-Mart gets hung out to dry by their unmentionables. And their wallets. *spits*

As some of you know, and some of you don't, matociquala started a community called "Novel in 90" wherein the goal is to take small but steady bites out of the novel-writing business. Call it the anti-NaNoWriMo. 750 words a day. That's all.

I joined as a way to make sure that I got going on Retrievers5 (aka DOWN INTO DARKNESS), even as I was plowing through on the Nocturne. I wake up in the morning and, while the caffeine makes itself ready, I write. I don't try to force myself past the 750 word goal: it's enough to keep moving, page by page.

So. A week in, and I report my progress: 5,900 words, out of a projected 100,000.

Seems like nothing, doesn't it? I'm averaging 843 words a day. Small, steady bites. If I keep this up, I'll reach draft by April (contract due date is 1 April). Once TNS is handed in, though, I'll probably be able to double my count for most days. The trick is not to falter. Slow and steady.

We'll see how it continues.


(in the meanwhile, I have a short story that's due and tapping its foot impatiently at me...)