Somebody’s Jumping The Gun
The bad news is that I’m still sick, enough that I’m home from work today. I haven’t even been able to get that much sleeping done, since they’re still redoing all the balconies on my building and their saws are just below my apartment. That said, Neocitran has been my best friend so far today (second only to coffee), and I have some hopes that tomorrow I won’t wake up feeling like death without the benefit of having been warmed over.
I’ve been making steady progress in editing All Stitched Up, and I can only hope that I’ve been doing a good job at it. Editing while on cold medication makes me a bit dubious about that, but I think it’s all right. We’ll find out for sure when I go to do my second pass. I’m now up to Chapter 13 of 32, which means I’m homing in on that wonderful halfway mark. The story itself continues to be good, the writing itself mostly good as well, and I found one chapter that went almost as well as I’d dared to dream. Naturally, that makes me suspicious. I don’t think my manuscripts can win. Either they’re crap or I’m nervous that they only seem good. Oh well, that’s part of what test readers are for, to give us a theoretically unbiased opinion. I think I’m getting over the idea that they might just be trying to avoid hurting my feelings when they say they like it. I know, I have chronic self-esteem problems. Fortunately, I’ve learned to use that to drive me to learn and improve constantly, rather than freezing me in a morass of will-never-be-good-enough-so-why-bother like it used to. It’s an improvement, trust me.
I’d like to point out that, while I love Devan’s infinite desire to be cooperative (and yes, I really do adore that about him), he needs to learn a little patience, and to enjoy what he has. This is particularly true since it will all be over soon enough (sort of, see previous post). He should be happy to play while I’m editing Stitched, but no, he’s getting restless. How do I know this? Because yesterday morning, while I was on my way to work, he handed me two scenes from Still They Watch and insisted I write them (well, not literally, because that would be crazy, but they were too good to resist). Doesn’t he know that I’m not allowed to start writing that book until November? Serious, Devan, work with me here. The upside is that they’re not from the beginning at least. One was from about the middle, the other is the very end of the book. The downside? Now I want to write the whole thing. I won’t, really, but dear god do I want to at the moment. I’ll have to restrain myself until the fever lessens. Need to channel that energy into editing anyway, as I have a sort of self-imposed deadline coming up in a few weeks. I’m well and truly on track to achieve it, but you know me, I’m never happy with anything sitting there staring me in the face.
On that subject, I’ve been jumped by another idea. Yeah, I know, according to a certain friend, I should be leaving some for everyone else. It’s not my fault. I’m not even really sure what happened. There’s this cut-down length of tree trunk by the sidewalk that I pass every day on my way home from Starbucks. Every time, I look at it and think nothing of it really. Except for yesterday. As I stared at it on my way up Mount Son-of-a-Bitch (fabulous cardio and butt toning, that climb), suddenly I started thinking of a legendary magical tree that was cut down, the trunk left to rot by the stump, and the events that happen years afterward. I won’t go into more detail, but the story suddenly came spinning out of nowhere, from something that I’ve seen daily for weeks, months really. WTH? Not that I’m complaining, Rotten Core (the current handle, won’t end up being the title probably) has serious potential. I’m just looking at the whole list of projects I have and thinking that I’m going to drown in the ideas.
On top of that, Spire is, of course, steadily building away in my head in preparation for December, when I’ll start seriously outlining the first book, and Queen and Raven continues to develop as well. I’m starting to think that my brain hit warp speed around the time I finished writing Stitched. Must. Write. Faster.