Going to Dublin for three days when day one is a Sunday throws off my already not very firm grasp of what day it is even further. I’m completely convinced it’s Tuesday. Fortunately for me, rather than having to find something pithy to say, I can just point you at Laura Anne Gilman, who has made an extremely salient statement about the writing life.
Also, one almost always needs the lesser amount of peanut butter one gets out to eat with one’s apple. I invariably think ‘that can’t be enough’ and get more, but I’m always wrong.
I read through about half of TRUTHSEEKER today. It’s all setup, of course, so it’s basically okay. Tomorrow might have some harder decisions to make. I hate this stage. It’s mind-numbing. It’s also what, in the end, gives me a serviceable ‘first’ draft, so I have to do it, but blgh. I’m ready for the book to be done. The book, however, seems to share no such sentiment.
I also did a slightly different Pilates set this morning, and at least one of the new exercises was a killer. Ooogh. The horrible thing is I’m rather enjoying this. I bet I’d enjoy it even more if I didn’t need to lose thirty pounds. Of course, in theory this will help to rectify that problem, too.
miles to Minas Tirith: 49.7(x-posted from the essential kit)