Well, since I can sit up for more than 20 minutes now without wishing for one of those pretty white pills with the groove down the center, and since I’ve now read 9 brand-new, never-read-’em-before books and eaten a box of crackers and gods only know how much toast, and since I’ve watched at least 10 episodes of The West Wing, finished one fabulous beta project, started another, discovered I can eat cheese and chocolate but only in small amounts, and since I’ve quite probably racked up at least a thousand IOU points to my husband, who has been a very patient nurse, I figure it’s time to get back on this horse, get the reins in a firm, stern grip, and then cling tightly to the saddle in panic while it races off in whatever direction I didn’t tell it to go in.
139 words in that sentence, and I don’t even have the excuse of a painkiller this morning.
Do these things linger in your system? I tried Vicodin last night instead of Percocet, believing that to the weaker of the two, and quickly discovered that hydrocodone leaves me prone to walking into things and marvelling loudly at the amazing light pattern the blinds make on the opposite wall. Maybe I should have tried for Kubla Khan.
Anyway. This is the home stretch. I have macheted my way through typing hell, and am wading in for a second round with this poor, bleeding MS. These will be all the notes I made on continuity, the layering of themes and subplots into the story, bonus character development, insertion of romance into earlier points of the plot, etc. etc..
Augh.
On the plus side, I’m getting so caught up in the ending of my own story I keep forgetting to slather it with ink.
On the minus side, I’m getting so caught up in the ending of my own story I keep forgetting to slather it with ink.
Bleck, snerg, and other annoyed and vaguely German-sounding words.
Her Dogginess, again, does not approve. She thought this bit was finished, and she could go back to leaning on my forearm while I was trying to type, which is what she’s doing now. She heaves big, heartfelt sighs every time I take over the futon, pillows, blanket, notebook, pens and stacks of paper in hand, and climbs down in a plodding manner meant to show me what a terrible person I am, and what a huge burden of inconvenience I have laid upon her.
To be fair to her, the futon is where I tell her to go whenever she leans too heavily on my arm, turning opus into spou, so this must all seem like some cruel joke to her.
See what I’m up against? She can make this face at me all day.
the purple patch 
You might be too young for this analogy, but my agent says every farmer knows the hard work begins when you start to chop the cotton.
He told me that ’cause he knew I picked cotton as a boy.
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Well, we’re lacking in cotton up here, but I worked on a farm between semesters in college and my old boss told me the rough stuff started when the cranberries came in.
Since I always went back to school before harvest I never quite figured out what that one meant, but maybe it’s the same thing. 🙂
Thanks for stopping by!
Your dog is too cute.
Heh- I just started Holly Lisle’s One-Pass Revision Method. How are you doing it with all the drugs in you? I bow down to thee…
Oh, good luck! It hurts, but it’s totally worth it. —I mean, I think it is. That could be the vicodin talking.
My advice: stock up on pens.
I’d cave to that doggie look in a second flat. I’m impressed you’re holding your own. Feel better!
She’s quite the heavyweight when it comes to guilt trips, isn’t she? *cringes* You should have seen her when I took her marrow bone away from her this morning. 🙂
Good for you, Amy! Love the puppy pic. By the way, how’s the submitting of your 1st book going? I’m still revising my first for a second round of submissions to eds. Ah, purgatory never ends…
Hey Nancy! Purgatory is a way of life. Purgatory is the center of the galaxy. Purgatory at least has great drinks and good company. 🙂
Waiting to hear how the submitting is going (gulp). I expect this time of year it’s pretty much at a full halt, but that doesn’t stop me from biting my nails. Love your new website, BTW.
Separating a dog and her(or his) bone is just plain wrong.