Could not, would not, did not wait for Boris to finish burbling coffee into the carafe this morning. I positively need the jolt.
I went to bed last night with Wisconsin Death Trip, and my dreams were commensurate. Perhaps it’s a version of telling myself I have it good, that my problems are comparatively small. Accumulating the internal pressure to add another book to the round-robin of daily work is taking precedence over just about everything else right now; I suppose reading grim historical accounts is a necessity. There’s also some Junji Ito sitting next to the keyboard for bite-size delectation over the next couple days. After that I think it’ll be back to regular reading.
The assassination in Highlands War did not go the way I thought it would. The protagonist there delights in throwing me off; I just have to lean into it, I guess. And in Gamble I keep trying to get the hero shot but he’s too quick on his feet, like Francis in Mr Right.
That’s okay. I have ricochets, and all sorts of other methods. (Cue evil laugh.)
Yesterday’s big thing was finding the first line of the Ragnarok book. It’s…difficult, swimming against the tide on that particular series. I haven’t seen this marked a bifurcation in responses to a series since Strange Angels. But I persevere, mostly out of stubbornness. I’m too far in to back out now, and I have to believe that maybe there’s some redeeming value to the books I was so excited to write. Maybe I just didn’t execute the vision well enough? I don’t know. Part of me wants to snarl, “It’s not me, they’re wrong!” But on that road lies asshole-dom, so I’ll just buckle down and finish out the whole thing as best I can.
The work does what the work wills, and I have to trust it will find its readers out in the wide world. If nothing else, the whole thing’s given me impetus to make a few other necessary decisions. Silver linings, and all that. I just wish the sick thump of nausea under my breastbone would go away. I know what the problem is–I should not allow myself to hope, and yet the very last thing to escape Pandora’s box keeps flittering around my heart, sinking its tiny fangs in at every slight provocation.
Anyway, I found the first line in one book, got the assassination attempt mostly sorted in another (today I’ll clean it up to make sure), and got the heroine out of the freezer in the third. Not bad for yesterday’s work, and sets me up for success today. If I can get the Highlands army off the plateau, get the hero in Gamble at least winged so we can get to the hurt/comfort trope (one of my faves), and get the protagonist and her Valkyrie to the pond in the Ragnarok book I will count today well spent.
But Boxnoggin needs walkies, I need a run, and the crock pot needs to come out for a giant mass of beef stew. I’m sort of excited about that last bit, since the weather’s turned. If I get exceeding ambitious I’ll also throw together some bread dough. Even if all else fails I can still bake a good loaf.
There’s that, at least. Onward to Tuesday, and damn the torpedoes.