Yesterday I finished the zero draft of the upcoming Fireside Fiction serial, provisionally titled She Wolf and Cub. The tale takes off where my previous Fireside short, Maternal Type, ended. It was a mad scramble to get to the zero draft finish line, partly because the story wanted to tear itself out of my head bloody, whole, and raw.
Consequently, I was completely useless last night, but it ended up being all right since someone else cooked dinner. I didn’t have to do much beyond stare into space, eat a bit, and maybe grunt once or twice when the conversation turned my way. The dogs, well used to my periodic spells of “FINISH STORY BRANE PORRIDGE,” were completely thrilled that instead of moving about the house cleaning or doing Similar Unnecessary Things, I settled right where they could see me without having to get up.
Of such small things are canine joys made.
So, today I don’t have a lot to say. I’m giving myself a day or two to let the zero draft rest, then it’s straight into revising, perhaps taking another whack at Rattlesnake Wind, and Lammas is my drop-dead date for starting the next Jeremy Gallow book. In between now and then, there’s also revisions on the first Gallow book to take care of.
Guh. My brain hurts just thinking about it. Time for me to go stare at a wall for a bit, play some piano, drag out a trunk novel and pick at it.
See you around the bend, chickadees.