Well. As it turns out, with the determined additude that you needn’t accomplish diddly squat, many things can be done without much skull sweat.
Wednesday. Did the remaining twelves pages of data entry on the novel; I’ve been writing it longhand and typing it into the computer. Why? I have a toddler. It’s easier to be focused on the computer, typing in words (mostly) as they appear on the page, for a couple of hours, than it is to stare at the screen and brainstorm with a toddler vying for your attention. Picked an area for an herb garden, put in a smallish stone demarcation/path. Not a professional job, but it’ll do the trick of letting me know where I can walk while the seedlings sprout. Looks OK. Finished hauling dangerous wood and steel-bar crap out of a corner of the yard, scared off all the centipedes, and raked up the moldery mulch.
Thursday. Spaded, broke up, and raked about half the herb garden, put in basil and anaheim peppers, which count as an herb to me, as I use them for flavoring. Nyaa. Spent way too much time getting stuff read for Nobilis, doing the writeup, figuring out the character sheet, filling out questionaires, etc. Nevertheless, deeply satisfying. Cool. Went to the Matrix (Lee decided not to go). Non-spoiling review: first half was dull, with good moments. As a fledgling novelist, I can say, “Hey! That’s a stupid plot trick to distract me from the fact that very little is happening right now, and we’re just covering pertinent information in a semi-interesting way!” The first half wasn’t as mythic as I had hoped. The second half had its flaws, but I completely lost track of time and was shocked when the movie ended, so any criticism I have is nitpicking and nevermind.
Friday. Did laundry. Farted around, bought a couple of used books (What’s the Worst that Could Happen? by Donald E. Westlake, a Dortmunder novel*, and The Lives of Christopher Chant, by Diana Wynne Jones.) Worked past a couple of plot problems on the novel, which means I avoided using the stupid plot trick mentioned above by changing the plot. It’ll work, and I won’t have to find excuses to make exposition exciting. For the most part, it’ll all just come out as a part of the plot. Nyaa, Matrix. Cranked out nine thouroughly enjoyable pages, which should get me caught up to the page-a-day goal. Cool. I may even watch an episode of Angel.
*Dortmunder. Ah, if you do not know Dortmunder, you should. Some books belong in the genre in which they were born, like Star Trek novels. Some books belong not to a genre, but to the entirety of people who like to snigger. The Dortmunder novels are ostensible mysteries, but really they’re about a genius with no luck–until it comes to revenge. Hey. The Dortmunder novels are the kind of thing Spider Robinson either has or would recommend.