Category Archives: Words Words Words

Get Thee Behind Me, Deadline

Done. In two days, the first half of my manuscript has been edited and sent back. Yes, it was an insane deadline. But it’s done. It occurs to me that sooner or later I’ll have to stop performing miracles, or I’m going to get myself in a tight spot some day. Right; from now on, the Scotty method of evaluating engine-repair jobs. (Although it occurs to me that delivering material before my estimated time of completion is how I got myself up to celebrity status. Hmm.)

And I have suddenly remembered the possibilities held within the addition of simple underarm gussets, which just might make this ritual dress a go instead of simply a learning experience. Of course, I have no more black thread on hand. I’ll pick some up tonight, because right now, all I want to do is rest after driving myself mad with edits for forty-eight hours.

The Deadline Looms

I asked t! how things were when he called from work yesterday afternoon. “I no longer hate the plot,” he responded. And you know, that’s really all a creative-type can hope for sometimes. When you don’t hate what you’re writing, you can at least work on it. When you hate it, all you can do is scroll through it and think about how much you detest the thing Sometimes, the most important thing about writing or drawing or painting or composing is just getting to a point where you no longer hate the work, even if it’s just for a moment. So long as you hate it, you’re focused on the fact that you hate it, and not the work in question. But as soon as you’re past the hate, a dozen new avenues of development open up.

I have an hour and a half till my deadline. I don’t hate my manuscript. I hate that I have to rearrange information between two chapters.

Beating the System

I am drinking iced tea instead of hot tea. That way it can’t get cold. And if it hits room temperature, well, it’s a heck of a lot easier to drop an ice cube into it than to boil a new pot of water.

Summer Food

This recipe came to me via an herbal e-list I’m on, and it sounded so delicious I wanted to share it.

Lemon Thyme Pesto:
1/4 cup lemon thyme leaves
2/3 cup parsley
1/3 cup pine nuts
1/2 cup freshly grated parmesan cheese
1 clove fresh garlic
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1/4 to 1/2 cup olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

Blend all ingredients in a food processor or blender, making into a paste. Use on pasta, blend into softened butter to use on grilled chicken or fish, cooked carrots, as a bread spread, or mixed into rice. Store in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.

(Originally published in the April 2002 edition of The Herbin’ Thymes, the newsletter of The Evening Herb Society of the Palm Beaches.)

*blink* *blink*

I’ve just finished editing the first two chapters of my manuscript.

They’re good. In fact, they’re much better than I remember them. My line editor is a genius at suggesting the occasional alternate word, and moving a word to a different position in a sentence in order to make it just that much smoother. To my immense glee, there aren’t many edits at all, and lots of positive comments and queries for further personal interest. She described it as clean, solid, and the best New Age text that she has ever read. And get this — the manuscript is running “a bit long.” Muah-hah-hah! Better to cut here and there to tighten things up than to produce masses of new material!

Chapter Two, the chapter on history, is definitely better than I remember. This is the chapter I wanted to cut completely when I submitted the manuscript, remember? But upon a fresh re-read it’s solid, and it’s important to give the reader a sense of where it all came from, and what the major influences have been.

And, true to form, my tea is now cold. All is right with the world. Except for the fact that I have to make more tea.

The Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Authors

I finished my new ritual dress last night, and, naturally, I’m unhappy with it. The lack of sleeve/bodice stretch is a bit inhibiting, and the errors hidden inside it are driving me mad. If I stand, I look good, but if I have to move around or lift my arms, I’m sunk. And the fabric I chose is nice and light, yes, but it’s so light that it doesn’t hang correctly. So, as the original fabric only cost me fifty cents a meter (I love sales!), and the construction only took about ten hours, I decided I’d head up to the fabric district on St Hubert street today, and get some black linen to do it over again with all the pitfalls firmly in mind and plans in place to pass them without disaster. And maybe I would stop by L’Esplumoir‘s new location (conveniently located in the fabric district!) and poke around. (You can dye natural-colour linen black, you know. Yes indeed. Actually, you can dye any pale colour to black. And dark colors too, but there will be a slight tint of the original colour to the final black, which is kind of neat. And if you factor in the cost of fabric, notions, and time spent on the project, well, personal energy invested in the ritual vestment aside, the cost is often equivalent.) Besides, there’s a package I have to go pick up at the little postal outlet in Monkland village that I could get on the way home.

I went on-line to check the new address of the shop before I left, and I thought I’d check my e-mail too. And thus, the best-laid plans…

The first half of my manuscript was sent back to me this morning for edits and rewrites, with a return deadline of noon on Friday.

It’s not the end of the world; so far there’s a lot of good encouraging stuff in feedback, and the edits are easy and far fewer than the other manuscripts I’ve edited. I have just over forty-eight hours to do two hundred pages. I should be fine — more than fine, actually. If I get enough done, I might go out to the fabric district tomorrow morning. And it’s a good thing I checked, otherwise I’d be in a bad position for editing it on time.

So I’ve put the first Moulin Rouge CD on, made myself a strongish cup of Cherry Vanilla tea, and to work I go. I think Mission: Impossible 2 is next. And likely The Hours will make an appearance later on.