Lilith Saintcrow

One little thing ticked off my list–the last-minute revisions of Cloud Watcher have been sent off to the publisher, not ten minutes ago. My brain aches. I opened up the next project–revisions on the fourth Valentine book–on the laptop and snarled to myself, deciding to leave sleeping dogs alone. Or something. I need a break.

So the next step is proofing galleys, and as soon as the book is available for preorder I’ll let you all know. I might declare an artistic mutiny this week and work solely on something I enjoy instead of doing revisions–I’m feeling the little tingle in my fingers that means I need to pop something fresh in the creative oven.

As for everything else…the house is quieter now, especially since we don’t have everyone over every day. It’s nice to have everyone around, but nice also when they scatter like quicksilver and it’s just the kids and the DHM and me. “The kids” does include the Froopster, our new teenage addition to the fold. He’s a dear–always doing chores so I can get back to the laptop, bless his shaven little head.

The DHM has just found out a number of political truths in the past two weeks, and was incensed almost to the point of tears. I manfully restrained from pointing out that he was repeating to me things I’d told him at least six months ago (who says I have no self-control?) and merely patted his head and gave him hugs. He’s since recovered his equilibrium, but I am reminded of the examples of men who come to political awareness later in life–principled moderates, mostly, but immovable once they set themselves to right a wrong. I hope he’s not about to go all Caped Crusader. I’d hate to have to wear a sidekick’s uniform. Have you ever noticed how sidekick uniforms are…well, so utterly silly? I can’t think of a single sidekick with decent fashion sense.

In any case, I am burrowing into my hermit shell for a while, during the recuperative period. I will eat comfort food and exercise and read books I want to read, not the books I have to read for research. And I will only write something that makes me tingle with glee.

Of course, the very act of writing anything makes me tingle with glee. But don’t tell the Muse. She thinks she’s forcing me to work, the silly rabbit.

Be good, bad, and better, my Readers…

Related posts:

1. Priorities, Toxicity, And Putting Up With Sh!t
2. A Grave And A Bed
3. Book Finished, Hide In Cave

This entry was posted on Monday, October 2nd, 2006 at 4:59 pm and is filed under Real Life, Writing (About). You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.