So you want to be a writer, Part Who’s Keeping Count

In a startling reversal, we have had news of a check!

It was cut yesterday, and will be on the bus to Maine this afternoon.

The reported amount of the check, sadly, reinforces my natural tendency toward pessimism, bearing in mind that, through the offices of our good uncle, Sam, we are currently constrained to put half of all receipts into the tax account.

[Sigh. The neighbor is shooting at his vegetables again.  It’s a hobby, I suppose.  And at least it’s at a decent hour in the afternoon, rather than 7am.  Apparently vegetables are particularly unruly at 7am.]

Steve and I had a brainstorming session a couple nights ago, and came up with A Conceit, the implementation of which will mean, I very much fear, that the Work in Progress will shrink Yet Again.  I’m tempted to title it The Incredible Shrinking Novel, and have done, but perhaps something. . .more convenable will occur.  In the meanwhile, among the working notes I have here is, “save Festina for later.”

One of the things I love about my job is the necessity of occasionally leaving myself notes like, “save Festina for later.”

What else?

Someone inside the roll call asked for my opinion of The House of Shattered Wings, which I recently read.  I usually don’t give my opinion of the books I read, because I overwhelmingly read science fiction and fantasy, and. . .I know a Whole Lot of science fiction and fantasy writers, as colleagues and friends.  I’m not being paid to review things anymore, and I don’t like to hurt anyone’s feelings over what is, after all, merely a question of personal taste.

I will say that, if you are looking for Gothick Urban Fantasy, complete with fallen angels, and immortals banished from the court of The August Personage of Jade, set in post-World War Paris, The House of Shattered Wings is your book.

Yesterday, for a brief period in the afternoon, we had Weather, in the shape of An Awesome Thunderstorm accompanied by a prodigious down-pouring of rain. Today, it is intermittently sunny, humid, and warm, and cloudy, humid, and warm.  Sprite is asleep in the red basket on my desk; Belle is asleep in my her rocker.  Scrabble sleeps with the heffalumps, and Trooper is on hammock duty in the front room.

In a few minutes, Steve and I will meet for ice cream, and then I’ll commence in tearing apart the first section of the WiP, remembering to save Festina for later.

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Progress on Book the Next
35,686/100,000 OR 35.69% complete

“Truly, sir, if I stood in your place, I would be extremely cross. The tree has been less than apt, and wounded an ally, besides. Indeed, I find it possible to be cross in your stead, and I mean to deliver it a ringing scold, when next we meet.”