Awww yeah. Hard core, me. Roit!The gory (not kidding) details are over here, but I'm done with that now and have moved on to other things like spontaneously generating an extra spleen. Win some lose some, right? Right.
Writerly things are progressing. Chapter seven sounds remarkably nice read aloud, so I think I need to add that task to the draft process rather than save it all up for a marathon session with the finished manuscript and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. I mean: I'll do that anyway, but I think I want it do be in the "This word needs to be over here" realm rather than the "This paragraph sucks accretions from Satan's bowels and I must be punished" realm. Which is to say, I'd prefer the marathon to be one of fine tuning. I do quite a bit of fine tuning as I go, but by definition the coarse tuning happens first. It's nice to trip over a single word while reading to the air and get the immediate fix of removing it, or replacing it with a different word that has better beats in it. It's not so nice to read aloud and realize that as a reader you do not give a fuck about what you're reading.
So I'll save the vino for the polishing.
Seven chapters means I have eighteen to go. Roughly five of them already exist in one form or another, so I'm in a rhythm where one new chapter is followed by a chapter with a lot of new material stitched into the old, and after that there's another stint of all new writing to do. Just the notion of having a rhythm is pleasant enough. The idea that there's an End, and that I know what it is, is a heart-stopping novelty. Better than an upside-down calf fetus floating in a big jar of alcohol beneath a dingy tarp in a lonely corner of the Carnival! Fantastic.
So so so...well, that's the random news from Lake Entropy, I suppose. Eat your fish, it's good for your brain. And watch out for gravity. It'll hurl sharp objects at you soon as look at ya, sure enough.
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