It’s In The Stars, Baby

Somewhere around last weekend I hit 16K-ish on The Pomegranate Bride, which I’m NaNoNoveling so as to make maximum progress. Since then? Bupkiss. I’m a sprinter, not a marathon runner, and I knew this but hoped it applied mostly to my quadriceps rather than to my writermuscleps. After all, consistency is the hobgoblin and all that wot wot… better to be typetive than typed on. Something.


In a desperate attempt to get the spice to flow, I spent yesterday updating Curio (yay!) and Scrivener (boo! my WIP file is BLANK HOLY FUCK WHAT THE FUCKING HELL HAPPENED TO IT… Oh Good The Grand Poobah found me a fix but the website says they’ll have a bugfix patch out soon so the hell with doing my own tech support I have pages to write dammit onward with Word on my laptop which So Help Me Goddess BETTER FUCKING BE FINE) and then spent a wee bit of time (5-6 hours) finding nice gothy graphics around the web in order to peacefully collage my way to greatness, a la The Cherry. Which was totally not a distraction from getting actual words on the page because I woke up early yesterday morning knowing the turning points my acts hung on and doing the Snoopy dance in my head about finally making a distinction between my story structure and its timeline, which yeah duh no shit but hey, I’m easily dazzled by all them thar words and stuff, where was I with my justifications? Um, never mind, onward to my point. And I do have one. A point, not a justification. Pinky swear.

So I woke up this morning (ok really like noonish) and staggered to the (brand new!) coffeemaker (filled with the delicious Tra Vigne Blend from the Napa Valley Roasting Company which TGP ordered a couple of pounds of as part of his ‘keep the “wife-unit sane and writing during NaNo” masterplan all hail the greatness of TGP!) then staggered back to my desk and sat down without spilling any of the precious fluid of life, intending to idly riffle through the internets and my spam folder for a bit before diving back into Curio. What do I find, two or three emails in? My horoscope for the day:

Are you meeting up with aliens — of the interstellar variety, that is — from the only planet populated by higher life forms who don’t speak your language? No. You’re not getting your point across (no matter how hard you try) because you’re too distracted to concentrate on communication. Try writing out your first draft.

Emphasis mine on that last line there. ‘Nuff said, geez. Damned conspiratorial internets.


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