Progress: one new scene, four chapters of revision Pretty things: elderflower presse; Hermes scarves; I think it has a title! Horrible things: a froth of saliva; violence against doctors; terrible lies Soundtrack: Elias, Two Hours Traffic, Luke Doucet Sustenance: dark coffee laced with rum, the rest of the salted chocolate Fetishes: tonight I made use of my writing hat, my special rock, my grizzly bear coffee mug, AND my favourite t-shirt with the antlers on it. Next step: another new scene. I don’t actually think I am done yet, despite the hour. It’s a rare night that I can stay up working right into the small hours, and I don’t intend to waste this one. […]
Enduro
My husband is riding a 3-day, 235k mountain bike race this weekend. To prepare for it, he’s ridden several 6-hour days and one 24-hour relay race in addition to his regular riding and workout program. He and the other racers have a team to transport their belongings, cook their breakfasts and dinners, and give them massages at the end of the day. His nutrition consists of a staggering array of bars, protein mixes and electrolyte tabs. I’m trying to finish Draft 2 of the Not-a-werewolf book, which is now back to being untitled. To prepare for it… well, I suppose I wrote Draft 1, and my million words of suck, and a bunch of other stuff that didn’t suck as much. My support team this weekend consists of two cats, the guy who brought my organic food box, and the internets. My nutrition consists of leftover lasagna, arugula salad, coffee, and salted chocolate (ie, much better than the final round of Draft 1, during which I mainly forgot to eat and ended up with a really awful gutshot kind of feeling.) I am ready for this. I am. I am ready to have it out of my brain, because it […]
In which I remember: today is Labour Day
On Queen Street, the marchers sing “Solidarity Forever” as they pass through the rain. I drink coffee and warm my bare feet upon the stomach of my cat. Autumn’s upon us, and I must waste no more time. […]
Release Chirpy Helium
…is now my favourite anagram of my own name, which is rather difficult to rearrange satisfactorily. (A close tie is “cheerily hales impure”.) I am releasing chirpy helium by making an incredibly fey dance mix and playing it at top volume: everything from Felix Da Housecat to Lady Gaga to You Say Party! We Say Die!. The bubbliness of this dance mix is designed to offset a grey cold day, fighter jets screaming over to the airshow, frightened cats under the bed, and the intolerable bleakness of my damned book. It’s Draft 2 Central at my house today, and as much as I love my creation, it’s a scary and sad creation, to which I have not been kind. (Maybe it needs a bride.) As often happens to me, what began as an attempt at light fiction has (d)evolved into a book about family damage, loss, violence and suicide. (Mom: you won’t want to read this one, ever.) Simultaneous to all this horror, of course, is a voluptuous knuckle-cracking excitement: I made this, and I’m making it better, and eventually, I shall make you read it. […]