Almost done going through O:C for the first edit pass. I’ll be writing tomorrow, I expect. I’ll finish up the last chapters tonight. I’m not sure this book has enough plot. I said this to Ted and Dad (neither of whom have read it) and they both looked at me like I was nuts. “Let us,” Dad said, “take one of the most famous spy novels of all time, and examine it for plot. I SPY, for example.” Long pause. “There you go, then.”
Ted says he thinks I’m suffering from not writing a fantasy novel, in which it is necessary to do more world-building, even if it’s an urban fantasy, because in a fantasy novel shooting somebody doesn’t necessarily mean they’re going to fall down, and in a straightforward romantic spy novel, it pretty much does. I donno. I wibble. I mean, spy stories really are usually pretty straight-forward. Protagonist has a mission. Things go wrong while protagonist tries to accomplish that mission. Protagonist ultimately succeeds. Everything else is details. Well, I *do* have that. So I donno. *fuss fuss bother* I’ll do my edits and shore up my world and character development some and … look at it again. Writing is hard. Let’s go shopping. :)
Actually, we just did. First time I’ve been out of the house since Monday morning, except to walk the dog. I desperately need a life. (“You’ve got one,” Dad said. “A writer’s life.” Well, I need somebody else’s!)
So now that we’ve got our little weight bench set up (and it is indeed little; it’s really not even quite wide enough for *me* to do bench press, much less one of the guys), Dad’s coming over to use our gym. :) He came over this afternoon to put the carpet we’d taken out of the office down on the garage floor, which actually makes it rather nice. There’s even a nice open carpeted space where the weight bench and the treadmill aren’t, for doing stretching and situps and stuff. He also shoveled our entire driveway. Ted says he’s a hero. :)
I think it’s part of the service. I mean, I go to Matt’s to work out in his garage, and sometimes there’s snow to shovel. To get to his garage, I have to shovel it.
But that doesn’t mean your dad’s *not* a hero. I think he’s plenty heroic. :)
I like spy novels. If you would like an outside someone who reads spy novels to read your book, let me know. I would love to help, since I will never be a professional writer myself. :)
CatieDad *is* a hero.
And I would like to read O: C too, though I will not note you, as you have finished it and all.
Boy, Trent, you were walking a pretty fine line there. Thank the goddesses for the last line, or I would have had to put on my super cape and done something vile. The vilest thing I can think of is eating squash, so the vileness would probably have had something to do with squash.