May. 2nd, 2013

clarentine: (cavalier)
I sometimes think it’s a damned shame that we can’t write a novel in the length of time it would normally take someone to read it. If, for instance, this benighted story of prodigal brothers, kidnapped babies, and the hills of the city of Lynchburg, VA, had taken me only a couple of days to write, I might have a much better handle on whether the plot really does need that extra layer of Urgent! Complication! that my subconscious apparently believes it does.

Or maybe I just have too many things going on in my head. You think?

Really, Subconscious, we’re up to 186 pages and nearly (so very nearly) to the midpoint reversal. You’d think you would be able to manage at least a little urgency. The point-by-point spreadsheet I’ve laid out for the rest of the novel isn’t enough for you? Do you maybe think you can hang me out to dry and let me dither here, all calm and crisis-less, until I give up? Guess again, friend. I know how this book ends. We’ll get there together, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming across that finish line.

(And if I then have to spend the next year rewriting and revising to graft on the sense of urgency you have failed to fork over in the first place, well, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.)

Your Author Forebrain


Unfortunately, I’m not exaggerating the too much stuff in my head. The chicks we brooded out this spring graduated first to a separate pen inside the big girls’ run, so everyone could get to know each other, and then to inclusion with the big girls. They all survived, and they're beautiful. No one’s drawn blood and they’re actually starting to mix a little, so I’m calling that one a win. At least until we figure out if any of them is a rooster!

The tomatoes and peppers I started under lights in the shed are big enough, and the weather appears to finally have settled enough, that I hope to plant them out this weekend in the beds P and I spent hours last week clearing of the last of the crop of weeds and grasses which had invaded last season and which I totally failed to clear over the winter. I still need to put down the last of the straw mulch to keep a fresh crop of weeds from germinating; I foresee another exhausting weekend ahead.

I’ve finished a design project for a lovely little back garden in the city, and I look forward to seeing it paved and planted by fall. (Fortunately, that part is someone else’s baby.)

I’ve also designed and planted a hummingbird garden for P to look at through his office window, and I’ve fleshed out the plantings along the walkway in the winter garden (so-called because it’s the only garden one walks through on this property in the winter, and it’s what I see when looking out the kitchen window in the winter, watching it snow and wishing really hard for spring).

I cleaned up and weeded out the kitchen garden. There’s work yet to be done here: the pathway from back deck stairs to the patio inside the kitchen garden, and the plantings at the far end (Washington hawthorn, I think, and maybe some Skip laurels or Mugo pines), but I don’t see myself getting to that right away.

And then, of course, the big vegetable garden. The planting of the tender crops is only the start, and the work gets more intense from here. I am bound and determined to get a crop of winter squash this year. I might squeeze in a block of early corn, even though last year’s result was laughable. We are planting a huge number of main crop tomatoes now that the new stovetop is in and the canning ought thus to be far less of a PITA.

(Oh, yeah – new stovetop. Replaced the glass-solid-surfaced cooktop that I blew a hole in during last fall’s canning. The whole process had far more moving parts than I’d planned for and convinced me that I want nothing to do with being a contractor, managing the timelines for all the subs, but that said, the people I worked with were very professional and did absolutely beautiful work despite the unexpected obstacles. One of these days I’ll take a photo and post it for all to see. Lakeside Plumbing and Lowes installer David LaJoie, your skill and creativity saved my sanity, and I thank you and wholeheartedly recommend you.)

So, um. Too much shit going on. Most of it, at least, handled. Back to the writing grindstone….


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