Wednesday, April 28, 2004
Yesterday, I wrote 752 words on the new story, which I am calling "Faces in Revolving Souls" until something better comes along. I am vexed by this piece. My best guess, I wasn't ready to write it; that is to say, it wasn't ready to be written. It feels forced, thin, disingenuous. The characters feel more like abstractions than actual people. At the moment, I have 1,338 words of the projected 5,000, and I'm hoping it finally comes together today or tomorrow. I'm hoping that something clicks and all the bits fall into place. I'm hoping I can ever love this one.
Last night, I read Judith Merril's "That Only a Mother" and James Blish's "Surface Tension." Both stories serve as reminders that sci-fi is all too often long on concept and devoid of good writing. The Blish piece was interesting, though, if only because it bears a superficial sort of similarity to The Dreaming #33, "Dream Below," and I know that I've never read it before.
The headache returned briefly yesterday, threatening to lock me up entirely. But I turned to the Green Fairy, and, by her grace, managed the aforementioned 752 words.
I want to get dressed in Victorian finery and spend the day at a museum. I don't want to be sitting here.
By the way, I am now accepting donations of laudanum and paragoric. Either. I'm not picky about such things.
I also managed to get the new Nar'eth pin-up posted to Nebari.Net last night. Thank you, Leh'agvoi (known to mere hoomans as "Setsuled").
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