I finished the zero of Atlanta Bound, Season 4 of Roadtrip Z. Since Season 3 is finishing (and is up for preorder, my how time flies), I’m busy with all things Ginny & Lee. Subscribers get the original, zero-draft, raw chapters, then an ebook of the first draft (likewise raw, but less raw) when the season ends, and the finished, edited, and prettified ebook before it goes on sale, so they get to see how the book changes during the process as well as two free ebooks.
Halfway through pushing to get the last chapter written, the Princess texted–some jerk had stolen her bike seat while she was at work. I ended up taking the one off my own bicycle to replace it, since her bike won’t fit in the car. It was infuriating–bike seats? What the fuck? Who does that? I hope whoever took it gets a suitable karmic vengeance delivered in an extremely timely fashion.
Anyway, a case of bookus interruptus, but once I got that emergency handled and sorted, I came back and found out the scene wasn’t going to end the way I thought anyway. So it was probably a blessing I got called away. It was definitely a blessing that I used the trip away to stop and pick up some milk and a bottle of wine. Not for consuming at the same time, of course.
Taking that first sip of cabernet after finishing a zero draft was immensely satisfying.
I took Sunday off, but only from work since Sunday is Chore Day. Housecleaning, more housecleaning, and as a bonus not only washing Odd Trundles, but giving Miss B one of her infrequent baths. She doesn’t need them often, because an Aussie’s coat is one of the wonders of the world–stuff just dries up and flakes off, and too much bathing can strip it of natural oils and cause problems–but she did need one, and suffered it only through her vast love for her hoomins.
She also tried to escape multiple times. Love only stretches so far.
Anyway, once she was scrubbed, rinsed, and dried as far as towels could make her, she got treats but spent the rest of the day mournfully reproaching me with big doggy sighs, stares, and not-so-subtle angling for more treats. Odd, since he gets a bath pretty much weekly, forgot about the occurrence almost as soon as he got the ritual treats afterward. But B? No, she was in a mood for the rest of the day, and is still a little miffed.
The idea behind taking a day off was to slow down the decompression sickness that shows up every time I finished a zero draft. I tend to work on multiple projects until one heats up and races for the finish, and bending all my resources towards that finish line means after I cross, the momentum is still there. I have to wait for the flywheel to wind down a bit before I can harness it to the other projects again. Bleed off the pressure, so to speak.
So I finished up yesterday by watching Met opera stagings. I have one of Netrebko singing Lucia di Lammermoor I want to watch, and maybe I’ll do that today. Recovery always takes longer than I think it will, even when I give myself a day completely “off.” (Which means only about 200 words in a single project, really.)
If there’s a single most frustrating thing about writing, it’s needing recovery. I want to work. I need to work. Scheduling in recovery time and sticking with it so I don’t work until collapse irritates me almost past bearing. Which surprises exactly no-one, I’m sure. But it’s necessary, dammit, and faster in the long run.
At least there will be some time for Latin today. The urge to read aloud, going back and forth with the translation on the opposite page, is almost like the fidgets that drive me out the door to run.
Over and out.