All I want for my birthday is a decent first draft . . . .

[ellen_kushner]

. . . and I think I got one! Because we're leaving for Europe in 2 weeks, and between now & then I've got a "Klezmer Nutcracker" reading followed by Yom Kippur followed by casting the show followed by a visit from my brother & his wife, followed by more casting and more company, and there are two anthologies I'm trying to get stories into before then, I hunkered down after dinner last night with the umpteen existing warped and misshapen incomplete bad drafts, a slice of birthday cake and a strong cup of Russian Caravan, and attacked the evasive Riverside Story with zeal. (Full disclosure: I actually started the process in mid-afternoon. But without the cake.) One last time, I told myself; if I can't push through and make it work by just bulling through with one unified vision to a finished decent draft, I'll give up for now. (Fortunately, in my ancient files I'd uncovered a treasure trove of half-finished pre-Swordspoint stories. Some of them were pretty good - too bad I had no more idea how to structure a story then than a day-old chick - and not the confidence - or desperation, or pride - to push on through to some kind of ending. But they did provide both inspiration and a couple of good lines.) At about 1:30 a.m., I had a rough draft done. It had been hours since the cake, and I was ravenous. Delia had gone to bed, leaving a dim light on for me. But she roused herself when I came in, and insisted on reading it then and there. She says it works.

I have not read it. Yet. I tremble. But I go and do so now. Farewell. If I fall on my sword, it will be "The Duke of Riverside"'s fault.

So thank you for all the lovely good birthday wishes, which I feel sure cannot fail to work to good effect. It means a lot to me to know that so many wonderful people wish me well, and think me worth a visit here. May it be a sweet year for all of us. And, hobbit-like, may I manage to deliver to you all a lovely birthday present of under 10,000 words.