Ugh. Snrf. Mrrh. Whaaaa?
That, dear Reader, is the sound of me waking up in the morning. Or not precisely waking up, but achieving verticality because little people need to be fed. I suspect this blog post will grow increasingly coherent the more coffee I swallow.
Let’s hope.
All right. So I managed to get to the scene where Jill’s car blows up. The Muse had to toss in another secondary character to do it (Gil, who I suspect has a Purpose later in the plot) and true to form, Her Royal Museness had to do this all last night at the last minute. A thousand words in twenty minutes later, and I was brushing my teeth when Important Plot Point #576 bit me right on the right cheek.
No, not the top cheek, either. It’s hell being a writer. I had to run out into the living room with a mouthful of mouthwash to insert plot point, because the Muse demanded it be done RIGHT NOW.
I suppose I should be grateful neither the DHM nor the UnSullen One even looked up, they’re so used to this sort of thing.
And I woke up with my back spasming today too. Waaaah!
So, in lieu of an actual post, since I have Nothing Very Interesting to say, I’ll just hit the links.
Richard Dansky at Storytellers Unplugged, in a post titled “Your Manuscript Was A Hamster And Your Editor Smelled Of Elderberries.” Awesome #1: Monty Python reference. Awesome #2: a post on critiquing, both on accepting critique and not being a jackass while giving critique. Awesome #3: murder by rutabaga.
Seriously, just go read it.
And ganked via Smart Bitches is this wonderful Gawker piece. Apparently Harlequin has decided Letters to Playboy was a great marketing technique and is doing something similar online.
Words fail me. I’m sniggering too hard. I suppose I am not a very nice person. But then, we knew that.
Now. Answer me honestly, dear Reader.
Am I insane for thinking this is so hellaciously sexy?
I just watched in openmouthed awe. So did the Little Prince, who is currently the only little person awake and ambulatory right now. He is perching next to me singing selections from Marriage of Figaro, via Looney Tunes, in a soft, crooning voice, stopping only to fire his “laser pistol” at imaginary encroaching worm-aliens.
It’s a wonder I can type with a straight face.
Have a good day, ducks. Watch out for plot points with teeth…
