(no subject)
Blogs
Immoderation and the pitfall of the superlative
Locking myself out of Tumblr has made me more productive, although possibly not in the right ways. It has, however, also cooled my temperament down to merely worrying and berating myself for lack of work instead of "MURDER MURDER MURDER". I think I'd like a Chrome add-on that puts a green block over any text on posts.
Embroidery continues, I am making a hash of the attempted tiny crest but it's a good accompaniment to Test Match Special (I don't care about cricket but that programme is hella soothing). I've been watching videos of red pandas, and trying to mentally design a red panda kigu (I think a removable pillow in the tail would be just the thing, because then you could sit on it or use it as a back rest but also stuff a sleeping bag in there or clear it out when you want to wash it). I've been idly outfitting a house in my head with a set budget because hey why the fuck not? I've been collecting reference material for a tattoo which involves the leaves of the London Plane tree and the flowers of Saxifraga x urbium, aka "London Pride", because doing it in plants seems less aggressive than if I just got the words.
I've done a basic timeline for the magicians book which goes up to 1910 but not to the end of the story and I am faintly unsatisfied with it. I've been counting plot points in each section because for NaNo purposes I find it's useful to have at least thirty, one for each day of writing. You then try to average 2,000 words per plot point, and then you have a narrative LUMP that's adequate for editing purposes.
I'm experiencing ridiculous inconsistency about the quality of my writing; editing BBB and having the unusual experience of going "yeah this is actually pretty good" a lot rather than swearing and wishing I'd never written anything, but also not really being able to feel like I wrote it; meanwhile friend Snorri has posted pictures of himself doing his first book signing and I am immediately filled with hatred for everything I have ever written; coinciding with another magazine telling me they don't want my story (I can't short story for shit is the lesson I am taking from this); reading a book I am dissatisfied with and knowing that it was published and considered a great book by a lot of people and that I cannot and will not ever be able to write in a manner that inspires the kind of fannish reception that, for example, Evensong's Heir has received. I can't even settle on a genre.
(Also quietly trying to work out how to make slightly better, more comfortable breeches, but that's nothing really).
Immoderation and the pitfall of the superlative
Locking myself out of Tumblr has made me more productive, although possibly not in the right ways. It has, however, also cooled my temperament down to merely worrying and berating myself for lack of work instead of "MURDER MURDER MURDER". I think I'd like a Chrome add-on that puts a green block over any text on posts.
Embroidery continues, I am making a hash of the attempted tiny crest but it's a good accompaniment to Test Match Special (I don't care about cricket but that programme is hella soothing). I've been watching videos of red pandas, and trying to mentally design a red panda kigu (I think a removable pillow in the tail would be just the thing, because then you could sit on it or use it as a back rest but also stuff a sleeping bag in there or clear it out when you want to wash it). I've been idly outfitting a house in my head with a set budget because hey why the fuck not? I've been collecting reference material for a tattoo which involves the leaves of the London Plane tree and the flowers of Saxifraga x urbium, aka "London Pride", because doing it in plants seems less aggressive than if I just got the words.
I've done a basic timeline for the magicians book which goes up to 1910 but not to the end of the story and I am faintly unsatisfied with it. I've been counting plot points in each section because for NaNo purposes I find it's useful to have at least thirty, one for each day of writing. You then try to average 2,000 words per plot point, and then you have a narrative LUMP that's adequate for editing purposes.
I'm experiencing ridiculous inconsistency about the quality of my writing; editing BBB and having the unusual experience of going "yeah this is actually pretty good" a lot rather than swearing and wishing I'd never written anything, but also not really being able to feel like I wrote it; meanwhile friend Snorri has posted pictures of himself doing his first book signing and I am immediately filled with hatred for everything I have ever written; coinciding with another magazine telling me they don't want my story (I can't short story for shit is the lesson I am taking from this); reading a book I am dissatisfied with and knowing that it was published and considered a great book by a lot of people and that I cannot and will not ever be able to write in a manner that inspires the kind of fannish reception that, for example, Evensong's Heir has received. I can't even settle on a genre.
(Also quietly trying to work out how to make slightly better, more comfortable breeches, but that's nothing really).