Panic over

[desperance]

I have solved, I think, my quandary. By work and expediency, together. I have finished my chapter, in a sort of rough-and-ready way, and decided to declare that an end to the opening section too, that I needed for my proposal. It's a draft, of sorts. I can send it to my agents and get feedback, before I need to worry about a synopsis. (In that sense of "Lordy, I haven't a clue what happens, I don't even know where this one's going...")

So: this done, I can turn my mind more or less to cooking. Go downstairs and browse recipe books, before the opera.

Then tomorrow I shall go into town and finish the proofs, however long that takes; and then shop. The Christmas market has opened, which adds an extra level of interest to the shopping. Today I came home with three brace of partridge (love these ways of counting; I remember my overmastering happiness the first time I ever heard anyone actually say "half a pair of hounds", when what they meant was a dog), which I have put up for confit. Not for this week, they'll need more time than that. And Lord only knows how they'll turn out, I've never confit'd anything quite so gamey, but we'll see.

Then once I've shopped, I can write and cook tomorrow evening, cook and write on Friday. That'll be fine.

Comments

[devonellington.livejournal.com]

Sounds like you've got it all under control.

Your dinner is going to be lovely, as always.

And I want you to write a cookbook.

My special request.

Congrats on the story sales and everything else that's going well for you!

[durham-rambler.livejournal.com]

Is that hound confit? I've never tried that ...