Sunday, December 19, 2004
I just learned that Voltaire will be doing a show in San Francisco with Zoe Keating. Neat. Cool. Drad. You should go, if you can. I don't recall the date. What do I look like? A daily planner? Use Google or something. Sheesh.
I did 1,377 words yesterday on Daughter of Hounds. And I was thinking that was pretty good (my daily record, I believe, is just over two thousand words in a single day), but then I read that Neil had done about 4,000 a day or so ago on Anansi Boys. But then I thought, sure, okay, but Neil does rewrites, and I virtually never do. The 1,377 words I wrote will be printed more or less as I wrote them the first time, so, maybe it all balances out. Well, I like to think so. Of course, I also like to think that I will one day be writing 4,000 words a day. Anyway, it's going well. I know what happens next, which is about all I can ever expect. More importantly, the whole book, the whole of the book, is unfolding in my head. It's an odd feeling, both euphoric and terrifying in the same instant.
My thanks to the kind reader who e-mailed to point out that I meant "one-eighty" yesterday, not "three-sixty," in my reference to the turn that Proyas' film makes from Asimov's book. I really don't mind people pointing out my dumb mistakes — in fact, I'm honestly grateful when they do — so long as they don't do it publically. I can't count the times now that someone has, presumably with the best of intentions, found an error in a blog entry or a published work and chosen to bring it to my attention in my old usenet group or the phorum or the comments section of the LJ. I know the internet frowns on manners, but I don't. And I sometimes get the impression that people feel they have to point these things out publically, else they won't get credit for spotting my frell-up, and we all know it's about getting credit, not about correcting the mistake. Of course, we do.
Why am I going on about that? I think I just need something to bitch about. Because it's Sunday, and it's cold as hell, and Xmas is looming over me like a rabid candy cane, and my hair's so full of static it's doing that thing Drew Barrymore's did in Firestarter just before she'd fry someone. I got my reasons.
Oh, and I don't get to see Zoe Keating play a show with Voltaire.
Perhaps I'll do 1,500 words today. Perhaps I'll only do a thousand. We shall see.
1:00 PM
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