stillsostrange

It isn't just one of your holiday games.

I have an anthology story to finish by the end of the month, another due in March, and an Isyllt novelette sort of thing that glares at me reproachfully from time to time. In addition, I'm also trying to put together a proposal for the second Dreams book. The trouble is, it probably needs a title that isn't D2: Byakhee Boogaloo*. I'm reaching the stage of frustration where I start combining nouns until something sticks.

Door(s)/Tower(s)/Mask(s) of Night/Horn & Ivory/Shadow

Diane Duane took all the good Doors Into things. Murder mysteries have cornered the market on Eliot references. The Waking City would almost be a good play on Boston as "the walking city." Does anyone ever call it that?


* I maintain that all sequels are either Electric Boogaloos or Pigs in the City.

The Poison Court



I won't even kid myself that this will be a short book. Four chapters in and it's already taking after Bone Palace. I would like a third POV character to round things out, but so far no one's volunteered. It's like they're afraid I'll crush their spirits and ruin their lives or something...

Mean things: blackmail, painful reminders of the past, the possibility of having to murder an old friend, hangovers

Floodland, which is not its title at all, but the only working title I have

Words today: 1200
Words total: 1200
Reason for stopping: time to figure out what's going on
Darling: If Lucia could have slept on trains, she might have died peacefully.
Tyop: n/a

I have a ton of worldbuilding to do before I can even figure out my plot, but at least my MC is being talkative. She is everything I could want in an MC: worn down, damaged, ruthless, cynically hopeful, observant, and fashion-conscious.

Now I need that worldbuilding, so I can have dirigible battles and shadow monsters.

A somewhat productive week. I made progress on "Snakebit," which has been languishing unfinished for a year since the last time I made progress on it, and even longer before that. When it's finished I need to turn my attention to either "Flood" or "Waiting For The Train," since novels love me not. I also need to find a market for the ghoul-smut sestina, which has been lying around for far too long.

I also have a referral for physical therapy now. We'll see what that does for my knee. Sadly, I think it's too late to hope for the half marathon in March. But I already have my Warrior Dash registration, by god, and dash it I shall.

And now, on to the inanity of the survey.

50. Have you ever saved someone's life or had your life saved?

In the intricate web of causality way, probably. In a dramatic direct intervention way, no.

51. Make up a definition for the following silly words...

No. I am too much on my dignity today, meme.

52. What was the last thing you made with your own hands?

I assume we're not counting books, no matter how they make my wrists hurt. I haven't made jewelry in a long time, sadly. I helped assemble the Gothtopus, and made the (tragically underfeathered) wings for my griffin costume. Or perhaps the cookies I baked to bribe a coworker.

53. What was your favorite toy as a child?

I can't remember a single favorite, but it was probably something She-Ra related.

54. How many TV’s are in your house?

Two.

55. What is your favorite thing to do outside?

Climbing, followed closely by hiking and swimming.

56. How do you feel when you see a rainbow?

Grateful that we've had any rain.

57. Have you ever dreamt a dream that came true?

In a symbolic sense, yes. And a few that were just that boring.

58. Have you ever been to a psychic/tarot reader?

I had a tarot reading on New Year's Day. It gave me good advice.

59. What is your idea of paradise?

A dancefloor.

Still not much good a posting. I'm trying to keep the Valkyrie reports to once a week, but The Book isn't solid enough to start posting metrics on yet. My kingdom for a meme!

Random fitness stuff: I straightened my arms in Wheel pose tonight, after months of suffering. My yogini was delighted, as was I. In less delightful news, my left knee completely killed my run on Saturday. We went five miles, but I only managed to run 2 of those. The stiffness I sometimes get turned into serious pain at 1.5 miles, and continued to hurt any time I ran after that. The knee also bugged me while dancing Saturday night, but that's more common. (It bugged me in flat boots on Saturday, but in heels on Sunday it was fine.) I realized I'm overdue for new shoes, which I will remedy this week, and I'm going to talk to my trainer about strengthening and stretching it out tomorrow. I suspect I also need to get a foam roller, and try to roll out my IT band more often. I will be very cross if one recalcitrant joint screws up my half marathon plans.

I did manage to implement GYTO last week, for two good writing days. Coffee shop writing is actually becoming very productive for me. And I love my baristas' musical taste.

My lack of LJing is venturing from slothful to truly sad. A large part of it is the absence of regular writing happening in Amandaland, which both leads to fewer metrics to post and a moderate case of bookless depression on my part. I don't enjoy bookless depression, and it's especially frustrating because the cure is obvious, but sometimes elusive.

Does anyone have any good writing memes, or feel like entering into a mutually assured destruction blogging pact? I need motivation, and small achievable goals. Otherwise my main source of content is going to become fitness posts, and I'm not sure those interest more than three people. (But if they do, let me know. I'll take what I can get.)

I have survived the holidays, mostly, despite letting them pass without an update. Now I just need to come up with a costume for Elysium's New Year's costume ball. I'm trying to figure out a way to reuse the copper feathers from my metal chicken griffin costume. Those should keep people from crowding me on the dance floor.

I've also committed to Warrior Dash in March, which will require much more training, particularly in the climbing ropes and jumping over fire departments. Between that and a 10k in April, I should manage to keep myself in reasonable valkyrie condition until the summer heat hits.

And after New Year's, I need to gird my loins and start marching on a new book. Any book will do, at this point.

Since I really need to take advantage of my deadlineless state to finish a short story or two, it's time for the first lines meme again.

"Flood"

Nan doesn't mean to fall asleep--she never does. But Evie's soft breath and the steady creak of the ceiling fan lull her, till her eyes sag and the worn paperback slides from her fingers.

"Salt"

The sea left footprints.

Elias kicked at the hard white ground, watched salt dust puff and settle on the toes of his boots. The salt flats stretched out around him, mountains floating like a mirage in the distance. He felt the phantom weight of the long-receded ocean pressing down. It would come back, eventually. Sometimes he wondered if he'd be around to see it. Mostly he hoped otherwise.

"Snakebit"

The horses were restless. The sound of snorts and hooves tangled through Lanie's nightmares, familiar dreams of smoke and screaming. She woke with a start, sweat sticky on her neck. Beside her, Merle stirred with a muffled curse as one of the horses whinnied.

"Spore"

"I got it from my girlfriend," the boy says. "Ex-girlfriend." Color rises in his light brown cheeks. "Wow, that makes it sound bad. Simpler too, I guess."

"Waiting For the Train"

When it's raining here, you hear the trains.

Changeling Hearts

The girl whose name was not Aletheia Rampion woke to thunder, and the lingering terror of a nightmare squeezing her chest.

Daughter of Jackals

The empress’s antechamber was dim and hushed, warm from two bodies and a single lamp. Voices drifted through both doors: from the interior, the soft tones of the physician and his attendants and the occasional cry and curse from the empress; from the exterior, the muttered talk of courtiers awaiting news. Indihar al Seth sat on a cushioned bench, breathing in the taste of lamp oil and nerves, and waited for her life to change.

Mesofauxtamia

The temple of Kimah was a place of bells. Solemn peals marked the hours; chimes called the priests to meals and to prayer; gongs clashed to warn of danger--thankfully rare, though pilgrims carried news of troubled roads and uneasy borders. And overlaying all was the jingle of charms hanging from eaves and doorframes, copper and bronze and polished stone dancing in the unceasing breeze off the mountains. Bells spoke more often than human voices in the halls of dust and clay.

Pinion

Lilah runs and darkness follows.

The Poison Court

No one had died at a royal ball in over a year. Savedra Severos held that thought in her mind as she surveyed the Topaz Ballroom; it might reassure her eventually.

Prayers to Broken Stone

Rain washed Paris, speeding the Seine on its rush to the sea. The cruelest month had come and gone, but storms still lingered. In Saint-Germain-des-Prés it poured from the gutters and dripped from curling wrought iron balconies. Moisture darkened pale walls, new paint and plaster over centuries-old bones. On rue du Four, water drummed against the awnings outside Les Vieux Os and fell in ribbons to the flooded pavement.

The Winter Road

Isyllt Iskaldur knelt in mud and darkness, cursing the autumn rain and every impulse that had driven her to become a mercenary.

My commitment to writing every day lasted slightly longer than previous Nano attempts, but not by much. Luckily, small and attainable goals prevailed. The bulk of these words were on The Poison Court, some on The Ashen/Winter Throne/Road, and most recently some on Prayers to Broken Stone. I also got two chapters into the revision of Dreams based on my crack location expert's notes. (Add more rain!) Right now I'm trying wait for arcaedia's notes so I can bring this in with just one more pass.

Words were managed in spite of the Vicodin haze. Which means I won't know till I sober up if any of them are coherent, but for now I can pretend it's progress. If I can just figure out what's supposed to happen in this chapter, I might stay caught up on the write-a-thon a while longer.