I long to finish these Poison Prince revisions and then… go straight into revising HOOD‘s Season Two. I’m sure by the time both are finished I’ll be a quivering ball of nerves, and will head straight into the next thing on the to-do list, which escapes me at the moment because checking said list seems overwhelming.
Anyway, the epic fantasy has grown from 113k to 132k, and shows no sign of stopping. It’s good–it means a richer experience for the reader–and at the same moment, extremely time-consuming, since not only am I layering in fresh detail but also adding notes to a pad of paper, to be typed into a series bible later. I used to just keep details in my head, tying them in a. sort of memory palace to the lighting in specific books/series, but nowadays I need that RAM for other things, so to speak.
Also this morning, the Princess had breakfast with me (a semi-rare but always welcome occurrence), I had to send an email I’ve been dreading, and a good-natured semi-prank came to fruition and I’ve been laughing nonstop about it. All in all, it’s been a mixed bag, and I still need to walk the dogs and swallow yet another toad, making an appointment I’ve put off for a long while.
Never rains but it pours, no silver lining without a cloud, and so on. Today is subscription day, so Crow’s Nest and serial subscribers will be getting goodies anon.
It will be somewhat of a relief when Poison Prince revisions are over. The second book in a trilogy is often the most difficult, all the bridging and connective tissue has to be juuuuuust so. It will be nice to shift to a futuristic setting and have some of the deep formality and rhythm drain from my speech; when I write preindustrial-set fantasy, I’ve noticed that I become even more formal and aware of verbal restraint. I don’t quite milady, but it’s close.
In other news, Sir Boxnoggin is overjoyed at the small, slow, preparatory runs we’re doing. He enjoys being out solo with Mum dreadfully much, and bounces along springily, tail held high, eager to defend me from passing cars, falling leaves, and other pedestrians. He’ll learn to differentiate between what’s usual and what’s not with enough outings under his belt, but for right now we go very slowly and there’s a lot of encouragement and direction needed. It does me good to have to talk while moving; it forces me to think of form and plan ahead even more than I usually do during runs. But it also makes them far more exhausting than when I used to take B after she was fully trained in running etiquette.
Miss B is, alas, a little too elderly for running anymore. The daily walks, as well as ceremonial postprandial wrestling with young Boxnoggin, are quite enough for her. The exercise keeps her healthy, but still… she’s getting up there. Losing Trundles was bad enough; when Miss B goes I will be utterly gutted.
They are worth it, these fuzzy little jerks, but I’m not looking forward to that pain.
It’s a day of good things and not-so-good things, happening so close together they blend into a hum of frazzled nerves. Ah well. Time to swallow another toad, then get out the door and walk off the canine fidgets.
I suppose I’ll add Thursdays to the list of days I never quite got the hang of.
…it’s a long list. Upward and onward, I guess.