The heat broke early yesterday, high pressure unraveling as another front swept in. My sinuses are deeply unhappy, but the rest of me is very glad not to be trapped in a sweatbox. So…silver linings, I suppose. Even Boxnoggin was getting a bit slow and sleepy under recent conditions; this morning, however, he is right back to his old bouncy self. Walkies are going to be great fun, since he has a couple day’s worth of sluggishness to work off.
I haven’t quite been laid low by heat exhaustion either, which is grand. It’s meant a lot of crouching in air-conditioned darkness, working at only half speed and guarding my rest time with the vigor of a hoard-squatting dragon. It’s hard to tell people no, especially the ones I care about, and at the same time I have got to either catch up with work or at least not fall further behind. Not to mention focusing on work is significantly better for me than, say, watching the news cycle.
Yes, I did see the FBI executing a search warrant on Cheetolini’s palatial Florida retreat. I’m not going to celebrate until the orange blivet suffers some actual consequences. I am fully aware that might be never, due to America’s love affair with and rewarding of narcissistic abusers in positions of power. There have been too many years–all my life, frankly–of seeing the bastards get away with anything as long as they can lie brazenly enough.
But I am smiling, just a bit, as I sip my coffee.
Hell’s Acre is coming along. There are some interesting wrinkles I didn’t quite plan, and I think I’m going to have to set aside one of my very favorite scenes. I knew it was a throat-clearing when I wrote it, so it’s not exactly a surprise that it won’t make the cut into the finished zero. But I love it so much and it pains me a bit to move it from “handhold” status–as in, this is a scene I know will fit in, so I’m actively working towards it–to “bits and bobs”, the name of the graveyard where I stick scenes and bits that didn’t make it into the zero just in case they’re needed for other nefarious purposes. Bits and bobs functions partly like a net catching fallen performers, and partly like a compost heap for ideas that didn’t quite make it this time but have a place somewhere.
Still, I’m a little resentful. I love the scene so much, and it won’t get its chance to shine unless a great deal about the book changes in the next week or so. I will be doing the equivalent of kicking small rocks and muttering vexed things for a bit after I move it, but I can always go back and reread when I need a bit of cheering.
I got some good wordcount on Sons of Ymre 2 yesterday as well, but I think I might have to rip out and remodel bits of the last scene written. The “hero” made a pretty interesting choice under conditions of duress, and I need to think about what that means. I expected him to throw himself at the tentacled monster, but he went in an entirely different direction. Not a bad direction, mind you, since there were already a half-dozen people dealing with said monster and the “hero” (quotes are definitely needed, he has not quite redeemed himself the whole way yet) decided to look at everything else happening in the room before acting, which is a rare and wonderful bucking of his usual trend. So I need to make sure that particular choice is happening for the right reasons, and figure out why on earth he would surprise me so.
Characters, man. You get these imaginary people inside your head, you feed and water them, you set them in a particular universe…and then they have the cheek to go do things you didn’t expect. I mean, it’s a sign that all things are working as they should and the story is behaving in an organic fashion, sure. It’s also frustrating as all get-out when one starts internally screaming “why would you DO that” and the imaginary people simply smirk, folding their arms.
Boxnoggin has pranced into the office twice now, attempting to get me moving toward toast. I can spend the time during walkies (and exercising my own shambling corpse at a slightly higher speed) putting the day’s work into various mental boxes, so I’m ready when I finally settle to it. And I can keep telling myself I’m not really behind, there was just a damn werelion VC Andrews homage book that happened.
…my life is weird, yes, but I like it. Quite a bit, in fact.
Happy Tuesday, beloveds. At least it doesn’t feel like Monday again. Small mercies…