I wrote six pages today; I'm not in love with it, but it will do for now. I'm in this weird dead-feeling patch of the manuscript where I need to set up whatever the main quest is for the rest of the book, but since I don't know what the quest is, they're sort of wandering around talking and failing to get to the point. That means I know I'll edit a lot of this out, but if they don't wander in the wilderness, I'll never figure out where they're going, and the story will die on the vine. Isn't that dramatic?
So I got out of bed sometime after ten, showered, ate some appropriately invalid-y food, made a lot of tea, and tried to fix our internet router. While I was fixing the router, I also installed the expanded hard drive for the Tivo, so we have an additional terabyte of storage -- yay for more saved episodes of Craig Ferguson in my future. I managed to write in the afternoon despite almost getting sucked into watching tv with Terry's sister, who was hanging out here this afternoon -- my fortitude at walking away from a television was amazing. I threw in the towel on the writing when it was time to call my parents, and after talking to them, I slunk back to the tv and watched an awesome Craig episode in which he visited Versailles. Then, I walked down to the heart of the Marina to pick up a salad (verdict: would have been great if the dressing hadn't been chock full of dill, which I still can't eat without having bad flashbacks to Ukraine), came back, watched some "Mad Men" and "Bones" with Terry, and then pretended to write for the rest of the evening. I say "pretended" because I would look at the manuscript for a bit and then conveniently remember something that I needed to do, so I didn't add many words.
But, I shall add words tomorrow; I'm not going to Palo Alto, so I have the whole day ahead of me to write as much as I please. I expect that means I will write nothing and be severely disappointed in myself, but I will attempt to avoid my usual fate. Goodnight!
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