Rainy Days and Thursdays

[desperance]

God, but it's foul out there. Grim and grey and wet and windy: one of those days where the very light is soupy with extra dimensions of foulness. (Actually, typing that, I wanted to compare it to something extremely nasty, and it took me a second or two to finger the exact parallel - and then I realised what it was that was twitching my skull, and it's, um, actually something I invented for 'Bridge of Dreams', a corrupt state of water. So there you are: the world has taken to reminding me not just of fiction, but of my own fiction.)

And I have to go to the doctor. Again.

On the plus side, I have formed a Strategy for dealing with this double impulse that I have, to be a good author and get my copy edit back to the publishers on time, as against finishing the new book. This strategy shall be known as Chaz'z Strategy, and otherwise called Getting Up Early. What I figure is, we go back to the 6am starts, and I can get a couple of hours in on the new book before I even have to think about taking the copy edit down to the Lit & Phil. Then I can spend hours in town with that, achieve mighty achievements, and so come home mid-afternoon and do some more work on the new book. Text sandwich: writing on the outsides, edits in the middle.

It sounds sooo easy, do it not?

I'll let you know...

Comments

[brisingamen.livejournal.com]

The weather is pretty bad here today as well, with howling gales, rain threatened, and outbreaks of sunshine ... which ought to be good, but it feels like a plot to lure one outside so bad things can happen, like more rain!

[davidbarnett.livejournal.com]

Here in West Yorkshire it is certainly the season of mists and smelly fruitlessness.

[martyn44.livejournal.com]

Its much too warm for a proper waterproof coat (I sweat in a fridge, truly, so a heavy coat has to wait for the cold) and a tiny umbrella isn't much use on the bridge from Manors over the Central Motorway to Market Street (where does that wind come from? Siberia? No, Ponteland), so I get to work soggy from the drips off the umbrella and sit there all morning feeling my calves tightening and no money for a bar of chocolate 'cos I gave my last penny to M, who had dashed out of the house without making sandwiches.

I could really enjoy a working from home gig.