I need reading slaves!

The (lesbian) unagi didn't kill me. And it was pretty tasty (undead love). Hurrah for cheap (were-horse smut) sushi!

After a particularly nasty fight with the suck monkey and a pep talk with the lovely and virtuous katallen, I broke down and posted the 1st chapter of Dreams to the OWW again. I know most people wanted to read the draft all at once, but I'd really like some feedback on the middle chapters before the monkey drives me to ritual suicide. If you hate reading segments on the 'shop, ignore it and wait for the draft. I will love you either way.

How does one acquire reading slaves, anyway? Do I need ferrets?

Progress tonight:
I rewrote roughly 1500 words, but the total word count didn't change by much.

Excercise: weights
Stimulants/comfort food: cookies & cream ice cream
Mammalian assistance: the boy is in SA, and the cats are banned from the bedroom

Starfish continues to rock like a rocking (cold fish sex) thing.

Book Report

Starfish, by Peter Watts

Oh the Shiny, oh the good.

I cannot remember the last time I read a book and never once felt the urge to grab a red pen. Never once thought that's clunky. Never once wanted to underline or mark through or generally destroy at least one sentence. This Golden Age of reading fell before I started workshopping, critting, writing and rewriting and picking through everything I read like a vulture (or a lit student, but is there really a difference?).

I'm not sure I've ever seen prose as clean as Watts'. Nothing wasted, no scaffolding, nothing cluttering up the flow of words, sentences, story. But the economy loses nothing of description or characterization. I hear metal groan under atmospheres of pressure, feel the cold and the heat, the weight and buoyancy of the water. I feel that chemical rush when a light cuts through the dark and you see teeth. The characters make me hurt in all the right places.

So, um, yeah--I like it lots. A report on Maelstrom will hopefully follow soon.