Category Archives: Writing

And In Completely Unrelated News…

This morning, while I was composing the very-difficult-to-write post about my newfound chocolate sensitivity, I received word that I won a year’s subscription to Strings magazine plus a $100 gift basket from an LA luthier for a 250-word contest entry I wrote on Emily Wright’s online teaching technique via her cello blog.

Whee!

This was especially nice, because I didn’t do it for the prize; I did it because Emily was looking for an idea of how readers interpret her lessons and approach. Of course, the prize is really quite nice too, because who wouldn’t want a goodie bag of cello-related stuff? (Er. Anyone who is a cellist, that is. I have no idea what most of you would do with such a thing. No, wait, yes I do: You’d give it to me!) The subscription is timely because I was going to have to let my subscription to Strings lapse this fall; it’s too expensive for me right now.

So. Yes. What a lovely surprise.

And I really need to get back to the taxes. I hadn’t made much of a start when I came back for a break, and then the chocolate post took longer than I expected.

Hello, Day-After-Deadline

This is the day where I wander around aimlessly because what’s been driving me for however long I’ve been handling the project is gone, but I don’t have the brainpower to start something else up again right away. This time it isn’t so bad, as it’s only been two months, but it’s enough to make me need a bit of a time before jumping into something different. I can’t completely break with the project mentally yet, either, as my editor will be getting back to me today or tomorrow with her initial response.

I need to reinitialise my freelancing gig again, and I have to get back into the headspace to revise Orchestrated. I scheduled collating and calculating all my 2008 receipts for the taxes for this week, so I need to get into the headspace for that, too. Today, however, is my official Do-Nothing Day. Which of course means I’ll do other stuff like wash dishes and empty the dishwasher and make bread and plan out an Actual Meal Of Some Kind for dinner instead of kitbashing an hour before the meal. I should practise, as well. Not that I haven’t played tonnes of cello over Friday/Saturday/Sunday, but there were a couple of new things assigned at my last lesson that I haven’t even looked at yet.

Now I need to select and print some photos to go out with a small package. One of the things I need to do is hit the post office today, so hopefully the sun will come out again because I don’t want to go out into the cold, damp, dark day, even if I’ll be on the bus for a bit of it. I’m tired of being chilled.

(Oh, hell; my colour cartridge is out of one ink, so the colour is totally off. Looks like the yellow, as the resulting test picture is eerily purple. So much for photos. Gnarr.)

Wiktory!

Finished!

Intro complete, bios in, story order rocks, spreadsheet final. Except now there’s the editorial memo/cover letter, which always takes longer to write than it ought.

Two hours later: Done, done, done, and handed in! (Okay, there was an hour-long break to do some divination work for a different cause in there, so it didn’t actually take two hours.)

Oh, hell. I haven’t thought about what to make for supper. *headdesk*

Fork, Please

This workshop’s as done as it’s going to get. (Yay for small children napping, even though we got back home late from a lovely visit that we didn’t want to end. I should probably wake him up or we’ll never get him to bed tonight.) What I do with these twenty-eight pages tomorrow in the actual execution of the workshop, well, that’s to be seen.

In other news, I killed the first spider of spring just now. It was the size of a looney and went ‘pop.’ Forget robins; it’s all about the damn spiders waking up. Brr.

In Which She Waves Farewell To Focus

We are at seventeen pages of workshop and we are stopping for the day, because hello, brain, where have you gone?

    BRAIN: La la la, I can’t hear you. Besides, I’m zonked. I gave you nine pages of workshop. Nine. That’s above and beyond. Also, I reorganised it all for you. I deserve a break.

    ME: But but but — I thought we had a thing. We were in synch! We were flying!

    BRAIN: Yeah, well, that was then. This is now. And my now consists of a demand for a piece of cake and some Eternal Sonata on the Xbox, kid.

    ME: We only have one more work day after today!

    BRAIN: Your point?

    ME: What if something goes wrong tomorrow?

    BRAIN: Kid, you have enough material to carry you for two hours. Factor in a break and some discussion, and you’re fine. Besides, I’m working on a meditation, but it’s still brewing. Two of ’em, actually, one for the symbol of the flame, and one for the cauldron.

    ME: Really?

    BRAIN: Yep.

    ME: That’s so sweet of you.

    BRAIN: I know. But it’s only gonna happen if you give me cake and Eternal Sonata.

    ME: I don’t know…

    BRAIN: Look. It’s feed me sugar and a really pretty video game, or wring the last drops of use out of me today and have me be nothing but a brick tomorrow. Fat lot of good that would do you.

    ME: Do you really think so?

    BRAIN: I know so.

    ME: Could we do something else? Something that feels less like skiving? Like, oh, practise the cello?

    BRAIN: Again? We did that twice yesterday, plus had a lesson. We’ve practised once already today. No, no cello for you.

    ME: Sorting through tax stuff, maybe?

    BRAIN: No, we did that on Monday. Not a lot of it, true, but even a bit is more than enough for a week like this.

    ME: You won’t be moved?

    BRAIN: Nope.

    ME: Fine. Have it your way. I give up. HRH is bringing beer home tonight because we’re both home to watch Bones, so maybe we’ll have that last glass of red wine I’ve been saving while we play.

    BRAIN: Wiktory!

In Which She Attempts To Discipline Her Brain Cells

Dear brain:

I appreciate that you’re proud of finished the novel. Really, I am. However, the point in finishing this first draft of novel before the beginning of March was so that it wouldn’t eat up valuable energy that needed to be directed into the anthology and other things. For example, there is a three-hour hearthcraft workshop that you will be delivering to (at last count) SEVENTEEN PEOPLE this Saturday. (I pause here in order to give you the appropriate time in which to freak out, o brain.) The hour-long brief lecture you did at the Hamilton Pagan Pride day isn’t going to work for this. You need to really, really plan out a better-organised and more detailed outline. A craft, maybe? Guided meditations? Break into small discussion groups? Something. Because, really, brain: Three hours. Think of something good.

Also, I am very proud of you for doing as much work as you’ve done today on the anthology. You’re completely up to date. All info you’ve received so far has been slotted into the correct fields in the correct files, submissions have been reviewed, and everyone who has handed in their story has had a contract sent to them. You’ve done everything you can do so far. That’s great. But that doesn’t mean you get the rest of the day off. It’s been a good morning of work, but a good morning and being totally on top of things in one project doesn’t entitle you to an afternoon off the other pending things. (See above re. workshop.)

You can edit the novel when the anthology has been handed at the end of the month. Four weeks. You have to ignore it for one month. Make longhand notes if you can’t wait. But no opening the file.

You may try to cast on that damed fingering weight yarn for the wrist warmers yet again if you need a break. (Yes, I thought that would send you skittering for the workshop files in tears.)