Yesterday when I came home from leaving the house to write, my parents said, “A manuscript arrived for you while you were out.” Talk about words to strike fear into a girl’s heart. *Jesus*. It transpired, after a moment, that it was a manuscript I’ve agreed to read for possible cover quotage, and nothing needs to be done with it immediately, but for one panicked moment there I couldn’t figure out what the *fsk* manuscript I could be receiving–HOUSE OF CARDS, for one impossibly-last-final-this-time-we-mean-it look? THE QUEEN’S BASTARD, with some…
hsm.
has just made a switch to posting at her non-LJ blog regularly, and is using WordPress and a WordPress plugin to post directly to LJ at any time she makes a post. This, I think, could solve my problem of wanting to be able to customize my look & feel without having to hassle with comments going back and forth in three different places. I don’t care where the comments come *in*, as long as I can have them all emailed to me (which is the problem with the LJ…
rain & writing
ZOMG, teh rain, it rains like a rainy thing. And our house, it hath sprung a leak. (Boy did the estate agent *not* sound happy about *that* when I called. But he sent somebody to fix it, so it’s all ok.) Ok, I said I was going to do a cover art post, but I lied. I’m too brain dead. I’ll work on it in bits and pieces and try to post early next week. Blee. ytd wordcount: 250,500 miles to Minas Tirith: 365
…and that, my friends…
…is one. hundred. thousand. words on this book*. It is not done yet. I have at least two more chapters and possibly as many as five or six. That’s fine, whatever, I don’t care. But hitting 100K feels like a milestone I would never reach. I have revised this book six times to get this far. I have thrown out at *least* fifty thousand words. This is the worst way to write a book EVAR. However, with the exception of one scene which is acceptable in concept but needs work…
a weird writer thing
So I have no problem being in the same room with someone who is reading one of my books. You know, a properly bound book and all that. If they laugh I want to know what bit they’re laughing at, but that’s no big thing. However. I. Cannot. Stand. To be in a room where someone is reading an actual manuscript. My parents are down to visit and to proof TQB. They’re downstairs reading it. I don’t even like being in the *house*! I want to run away! Blee! Blee!…