Catching Up
I forgot to mention that I went to the Kim Harrison signing out at the Beaverton Powell’s Tuesday night. Kim was a scream, as usual–she’s always so funny and so kind. I took some pictures for her (sorry if they didn’t turn out well, but I always tried to snap at least two on the theory that one of them might be decent.) Afterward we got a chance to go out for dinner/dessert before poor Kim turned into a pumpkin and had to be taken home to bed. She was on East Coast time and a signing schedule to boot, and if that doesn’t exhaust you NOTHING will. There are few things as all-out draining as signings.
Today it’s sunny and my brain is still oatmeal. There’s some kind of book sale I’m due to go to with the Selkie, I think. I’m sure I’ll find something loverly, I always do at book sales. Right now I am drinking coffee and trying to make my cortex function.
It just ain’t happening. I think I need a little more time for the rubber-band snap after yesterday’s massive expenditure of energy. Not only did the Sullen One have a test, but the Princess was having trouble with math and the Little Prince was just plain having trouble with boundaries. (BTW, Martian Moon Crab, your gift of books was laid on the Princess’s altar. Her Royal Highness accepted the offering with many distinctly un-royal squeals of delight. Sometimes my darling is almost catlike.) The DHM was incommunicado most of the day, so I had to deliver the news that I had finished another mitosis (read: book) late in the evening after he came back from bashing-heads-in-skirts (aka: kendo.) He applauded, and grinned, because he knows it won’t be long before another one yanks itself free of my wrinkly little brain.
So. Book 5, rough draft, done. Sunshiney day outside. Head feels like a steam-cleaned peach pit. Body recovering due to massive amounts of mineral water and judicious applications of caffeine. Why does it physically hurt so much to finish a book? Is it the tension I hold while I’m racing for the finish line? Is it that I just don’t take care of myself when the writing gets hot? Is it something else–the physical body mirroring a big psychic effort?
Am I just whining and complaining? That’s most likely.
So I will devote today to pouring stuff back into my head so we reach my accustomed level of pressure to drive this machine. I think I can afford one little day off. I’ve been a good girl. Finished the rough draft and haven’t collapsed into the flu. Something must be working right.
Uh. I can’t even write a decent blog entry. Going to go refill my head.
See you later, alligator.
