Monday, June 06, 2005
Yesterday, I did 1,723 words on Chapter Four of Daughter of Hounds. I'm well into the next to the last scene of the chapter (and I have no idea if other authors mentally break their chapters down into scenes, but I do). Soldier and Odd Willie Lothrop in his sqaut on Federal Hill. The asking of a dreadful question. I'll finish that scene today. Late last night, I began proofreading the galleys of Frog Toes and Tentacles, which I need to get back to Subterranean Press sometime this week. And speaking of FT&T, here are some of Vince Locke's preliminary sketches/pencils for three of the vignettes:
Pencils for "Los Angeles, 2162 (December).
Pencils for "Untitled 12".
Sketch for "Untitled 7".
I have been so concerned that I'm taking such a long time to write Daughter of Hounds. I began research on the novel last summer, and started writing it October 1, 2004, and here I am, seven months later, with only a prologue and four chapters, 256 pp., 55,324 words. But, certain financial considerations aside, these concerns are largely unfounded, and they are exagerrated by the fact that I wrote both Murder of Angels and Low Red Moon rather quickly. Here's a breakdown of how long each of my novels have taken to write. I scribbled it on my day planner last night:
The Five of Cups — June 1992-April 1993
Silk — October 1993-January 1997
Threshold — August 1998-May 2000
Low Red Moon — November 2001-August 2002
Murder of Angels — January 2003-October 2003
It's very weird seeing it all laid out like that. And, actually, the dates on MoA are slightly misleading, as I actually began work on the book in July 2000, wrote the prologue, two chapters, a bit of Chapter Three (later discarded), and then shelved it in the spring of 2001. So, really, MoA really should read July 2000-October 2003. But my point is that I've only been working on Daughter of Hounds a scant seven months. Even the books which I've written relatively quickly, took me eight or nine months, and others have taken much, much longer. Which is to say that I shouldn't fret. The book is taking the time it needs, though it has been hampered a bit by recent, and hopefully finished-for-now, upheavels.
Anyway, I was awake by a little after 7 a.m. this morning (ugh), because Sophie had to be back at the vet at 9, and Spooky had to give her breakfast and her first insulin shot of the day before she went. Her glucose levels are being monitored today, and we'll get her back this evening. I'm sure she'll be grumpy after a day of being poked and prodded and having barking dogs inflicted upon her. And I'm more awake than I ought to be.
Last night, I began playing Advent Rising, because I'm a sucker for a good space opera, even when penned by a homophobe like Orson Scott Card. The game is gorgoeus, and the gameplay smooth and intuitive. So far, I like it. It's sort of Titan A.E. meets Halo, in tone and look and subject matter. Actually, there's a lot of Halo in this game, and if that sort of thing bothered me a great deal, I'd probably be annoyed. Afterwards, Spooky and I began reading Richard Adams Shardik, which I've not read since I was a kid and which she's never read.
A belated birthday thank you to Marrije Schaake, who is far away in the Netherlands where I have never yet been.
Okay. Time to write...
11:12 AM
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