Sunday, January 26, 2003
Much to my surprise, I managed to take a "day off" yesterday and do so relatively guilt free. It's a near impossibility for me. I've probably said all this in here already. Having no set work time, punching no clock, and being able to sell pretty much anything and everything that I write has resulted in me feeling that all time is best spent working. Because any time spent not working could have been spent working. It's not like my office is ever closed. There are no holidays, no vacations, no sick days. Just the time I ought to spend sitting at this (or some other) keyboard, typing, writing, working. Anyway, as I said, yesterday I got through things fairly well without a work fix, but I was in full withdrawal by this morning. We saw The Two Towers again (I liked it even better the second time) and spent a couple of hours browsing around Border's, looking at books and CDs. Kathryn picked up copies of Rabbit Songs by Hem (very nice) and The Lost and Found, 2nd Ed. by Rasputina. We had dinner from Fellini's. It was a good day.
And now I go back to work.
Tori Amos on the headphones. "Hey Jupiter."
The cryosphere is only moderately active today.
I'm thinking how badly I need to hang pictures in here, and get a CD shelf thingy that will hold all mine and Kathryn's and Jenny's CDs (over a thousand, I'm sure), because they're currently residing in my office and need to go elsewhere. I bloody hate hanging pictures.
And I need to begin the absinthe story today. Actually, I began an absinthe story for this book some months ago, "Green Bottle," right after having finished with "Andromeda Among the Stones," but it was shelved during all the moving chaos and now I think it should perhaps stay shelved, that I can surely come up with something better. After all, the Green Fairy is near and dear to my heart and this ought to be one of the Important Stories. But, currently, I either have too many ideas or absolutely none at all. I'm not sure which. This is the worst part of writing for me (despite anything to the contrary I might have said in the past), conception, getting an idea, settling on an idea. I said years and years ago, 99% of all ideas are not worth the writing, and that the hardest part of being an author is finding that 1% that is deserving of actual composition. I used to argue with other authors about this, authors who thought that every idea had equal merit, but mostly they were busy trying to think of new takes on vampires and serial killers, so I always felt I held the high ground in those debates. I do know that my absinthe story will have neither vampires nor serial killers. I suppose that's something. Tonight, I will probably go to the Green Fairy, if not for inspiration, for simple consideration. A good waking dream would surely help matters. Well, it couldn't hurt matters. Perhaps this will be an historical piece. Perhaps it won't. Blah, blah, blah.
I think I'd be not quite so out of sorts right now if I'd been allowed to go to San Francisco, to SpookyCon, to "hobnob with my fellow wizards." I've not been in the company of other writers, the writers who are my friends and to whom I look for guidance and a deeper understanding of my art, since I was in Chicago last March.
Go write, Cait.
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