clarentine | Bookkeeping: Lynch

Weekends are good things, especially when they're three day weekends. This one was busy, as they always are, but with three days to stretch out in, the busyness has gaps. Gaps through which the words oozed. >:-)

(The momentum might be coming from the run up to that first turning point. Sooooo close now. I need to give my brain a chance to block out the next piece of the scene, though, so I'm breaking off here. I still have tomorrow to finish it.)

New words: 1389
Total words: 24,556
Mean things: Lack of trust in yourself; being forced to face something that terrifies you; threats of bodily harm.
Research: location of the old train station in Lynchburg; routes of the trains in 1909; location of pedestrian bridges from downtown up into the hills.

Remember my mention of the ways in which writing in the near past pays off? I actually found an image from an old postcard which showed me the location of the train station, a location I could not find anywhere on the web. And that very same postcard showed the bridge I needed my characters to take. And another postcard gave me the same scene from a different angle, with a close-up of that bridge. Wonderful!

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Accomplished thus far this weekend, in addition to the writing: the splitting and stacking of a winter's worth of firewood; digging the sweet potatoes before the first frost (potentially tonight) zaps them; gathering up what will likely be the last of the tomatoes and peppers.

Yet to be accomplished: finding a repairman to fix the washing machine, which believes it's a jumping jack and no longer needs to spin water out of the clothes. Fingers crossed I can get someone in tomorrow, while I'm still off.

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Here, have some photos I've had stored on my camera and only took the time to download this weekend. You can see the whole batch over at my Flickr page (http://www.flickr.com/photos/8556491@N07/). The first shot is for

mnfaure - here's hoping your move is going well!

And here's a shot of the kind of warfare I can heartily get behind. That worm doesn't know it yet, but those little white cocoons have signed its death warrant, and my gardener's heart is gleeful.