What writers do, Part fiftyeightmillionandtwelve

As Shoe told us, many years ago, “Typists type; writers stare out windows.”

True to my job description, I spent the last howevermany hours staring out the window, and pushing my backbrain for the Thrilling Conclusion to Carousel Seas, in order, if it would be soverykind.

The result of all this window-staring is two typed pages outlining the final action, with heroics befitting the end of the book and the end of the series, in, as far as I can tell, the correct order.  Yay.  All I have to do now is write it.

…which will not be happening today because I managed to overclock my brain just a teensy bit, so today is a Day Off.

I dawdled over my breakfast and coffee, reading something that’s not written by me.  Sandman Slim, in fact.  I’m not precisely sure why I’m reading it; possibly I’m waiting for the main character to grow a brain.

This afternoon, as advertised elsewhere, I will be viewing the classic drama, “Now You See Me” at the local cinema.  This evening?  The possibilities are endless.  Maybe I’ll finish reading my book.

Tomorrow, I will have Mike the electrician in early, so that he can Survey the Situation with regard to the possible installation of ceiling fans.  It comes about that ceiling fan installation may not be as simple as the young man at Lowe’s would have had us believe (quelle surprise!).  Apparently, due to the age of the house, Mike the electrician has some doubts regarding the existence of the proper box to hold the fan into the ceiling.  The box, he tells me, may be installed by himself, but will add cost.  So!  Excitement already on tomorrow’s calendar.

Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll get with the Thrilling Conclusion and see how fast I can type.

As some of you may know, Steve is down South, visiting the Old Country.  Mozart and Scrabble wish it to go on record that this is not acceptable and that they will be filing the report with the Committeecat.  So far, I’ve managed to short-circuit this intention by hiding all the pencils.

I hope your weekend is being exciting/relaxing/busy — whichever you prefer.


7 thoughts on “What writers do, Part fiftyeightmillionandtwelve”

  1. My weekend was sufficiently exciting that I decided today wa my day off–and then, while describing said excitement on a newsgroup, managed to upset a glass of water all over the place, wetting things that ought not to have been wetted. So much for “day off.” So I also washed dishes and felt very virtuous for so doing. (Some days I just feel grumpy. Today was virtuous.)

    The weekend began on Friday with an evening rehearsal of Mozart’s (not the cat’s) Mass in C-minor, the first orchestra rehearsal, at which it was discovered that that timpanist no longer owned his w/e/a/p/o/n/s/, er, the big fat copper kettledrums. And that the venue which used to have risers that accommodated chairs no longer did, so the choir would have to stand throughout. O….kay. But feet and especially knees were not over-thrilled by the end of rehearsal at 10 pm.

    Saturday morning at 10 am, I was back down in the city for the dress rehearsal, which lasted until noon. And was enlivened by an enraged Flower Lady who came in to arrange flowers on the altar of the church where we were to perform and found an orchestra and sixty-voice choir in her way. No one had told HER there was a performance that night (all of us were tactful and did not mention the colorful posters that had been up in her church for days.) Two hours standing still and intermittently singing in the morning left my feet and knees in rebellion…tough it out, I told them, becuase you’re going to do it again tonight. Then I drove home (an hour) and crashed in bed for two hours before crawling out, showering again, dressing in concert blacks (the slacks to which had disappeared but were found hiding in the bottom drawer under the socks–why, I don’t know) and driving self and family back down to the city for the performance.

    Which went very well, and the audience was pleased with us. Then we drove home, picking up a rare treat, fried chicken, on the way, and stood in the kitchen (because the table and one chair are covered with boxes of books) eating chicken, and then fell into bed. And I woke up feeling that “beaten all over” stiffness and decided that I’d stay in (it’s very hot and sultry outside) and take the day off. Mostly. Aside from mopping up the mess I made, washing dishes, and maybe even cleaning the shower (but I dunno…too much virtue in one day could lead to hubris and that’s a bad thing. Maybe it’s time for a nap, huh?)

  2. Rando des vignes yesterday, patrimoine des moulins today, champagne and mosquitoes this evening.

  3. Not that fond of mosquitoes or champagne — unless champagne kills mosquitoes? That would make So! Much! Sense!

  4. that would make sense, but unfortunately, champagne only attracts mosquitoes. I, myself am feeling most smug….. having made a trip to the transfer station and then weeded the snow-on-the-mountain out of yet two more garden beds. I would have moved the rotting bridge from the drainage trench, but I really need the assistance of stronger arms than mine.
    The rain preventing me from further progress outside, I came indoors to commit laundry and dish washing. Ihave not run out of ways to be productive, but I do think that is quite enough for one day.

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