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Last night, on a whim, I went back and figured out when I started this draft of The Slow Palace, then asked a date calculator to tell me how many days I'd been writing. It turned out to be 399, which means today (Sunday) makes 400. Since I'm closing in on page 200, that works out to slightly less than half a page per day — not a pace I'm happy with, but moving to Boston happened in there, and dealing with depression last spring, and other sundries. I'm averaging more than a page a day lately, which pleases me.
The anniversary, for those who don't want to do the math, was November 11th. I failed to observe it, but in my last post before that date I wrote,
I was planning to do some day-400 caffeine-noodling in Diesel tonight, but a soggy sort of blizzard dumped snow on us instead. I gave my back something to complain about by shoveling the car out in the rain — plenty of slush and heavy, wet snow, with a gritty crust of oil-soaked ice chunks along the road to mark the leavings of the snowplow, but a little hard labor was what I needed to get my head on straight today. Later,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
adfamiliares and I made some very sorry-looking Christmas cookies — the only cookie cutters we have, you see, are shaped like a heart, three wounded gingerbread men, and a large lizard, and neither of us had ever used royal icing before. More to the point, we'd never mixed colors using food coloring, so we ended up with messily frosted, olive-and-brick-colored Christmas lizards, and one-armed gingerbread men in virulently orange hazard suits, and a scary looking blue creature that looks like the salt vampire from Star Trek. If you're coming to the Scottish Xmas party at Springstep tomorrow, O Bostonians, you'll get to eat them.
The anniversary, for those who don't want to do the math, was November 11th. I failed to observe it, but in my last post before that date I wrote,
I just finished chapter 8, and we stand on the very threshold of the Slow Palace. Hoorah! I've been conceiving of the forthcoming scenes as the center of mass of the book, though by simple page count they may mark the end of the first third or so—certainly a keystone, anyway, or a significant fulcrum for change.So I suppose I observed the anniversary without realizing it.
I was planning to do some day-400 caffeine-noodling in Diesel tonight, but a soggy sort of blizzard dumped snow on us instead. I gave my back something to complain about by shoveling the car out in the rain — plenty of slush and heavy, wet snow, with a gritty crust of oil-soaked ice chunks along the road to mark the leavings of the snowplow, but a little hard labor was what I needed to get my head on straight today. Later,
adfamiliares and I made some very sorry-looking Christmas cookies — the only cookie cutters we have, you see, are shaped like a heart, three wounded gingerbread men, and a large lizard, and neither of us had ever used royal icing before. More to the point, we'd never mixed colors using food coloring, so we ended up with messily frosted, olive-and-brick-colored Christmas lizards, and one-armed gingerbread men in virulently orange hazard suits, and a scary looking blue creature that looks like the salt vampire from Star Trek. If you're coming to the Scottish Xmas party at Springstep tomorrow, O Bostonians, you'll get to eat them.
