I’ve got three scenes to go. It’s not going to be the full 120,000 words, but it will be as long as it needs to be. And it is, except those scenes, ready to go.
Yes, it is.
we’re going out to eat tonight—the pub offers a free birthday steak. Can’t miss that. Tomorrow she’s asked for a mandarin orange chicken dish I do, and we will see if I can remember it.
They’re comparing this to typhoon Haiyan, which did immense damage and killed 6000 people.
Seems vitamin D deficiency (which I do have) can cause muscle soreness.
The book is nearing completion. I have scenes mapped. I can see the finish line.
My publisher has had an adventure, meanwhile: her husband broke his leg very badly while on tour in Ireland, and she had to go over to help him—but he can’t fly back because of the air pressure issue, so they’re taking the Queen Mary home, but couldn’t get passage for four weeks. Their sailing date is upcoming—so I hope the book will be if not waiting for them, at least the major part of it will.
Blew up. Froze. If I’d not been so tired, if I’d had the sense God gave a newt, I’d have hand-copied, but the autosave hadn’t gotten it, and I’d pushed past tired to input the edits I wanted, freehand, no written record, OF course, and then the friggin’ TSR that almost all computer companies install to help us manage our lives (when I i-dee this ‘un I’m going to call Dell and light up somebody’s ear in technical support—froze my program. And blocked the autosave.
I can fix it. Tonight I am going to work a mighty slaughter among the renegade priests and undead, because I am in that kind of mood. Much too tired and much too ticked off to attempt that scene tonight. I’ll fix it in the morning. Fortunately the bones of the scene are NOT lost, just the fixes for problems I’d delicately put in.
I found out around July that I had to have the next book in come the end of October—normally it would be due about next June. What with Worldcon in town, Washington state nearly burning down, and Shejicon, I have still managed about 80,000 words, and now have the 30,000-40,000 next words planned.
Been managing to continue the walking, too. Yesterday we did .71 miles out, .71 back, still more done in after the walk than I’d like, but I feel better for it.
We bought this house back in 2007, and it underwent a bit of a transformation then—from tired drapes and green paint to something we liked a lot better. The carpet, well, short-shag brown-white. Not horrid. But I’m not a fan of carpeted floors. Bad for allergies. They collect stuff.
Well, one year about 2010 a man dropped by from about 3 blocks up the street—we’d met him on our walks. And he said he’d worked with the builder of OUR house, and had the blueprints, and would we like to have them.
That we would. And they were very interesting, the design before the remodel that had extended the kitchen and Jane’s room by about 10 feet where the old garage had been, and built a separate garage across the garden.
They also said, re the floors, ‘red oak.’ Well, I so wanted to know, but had no good way to take a look until the disaster to the carpet at Shejicon, which had the kitties pent up in my room—they’d torn the carpet at the door. And a look beneath—showed polished wood.
As best we can figure, the red oak flooring was in the living room and the 3 bedrooms, one of which is now the office. BUT only half of Jane’s room will have the original flooring. We think the carpet and the kitchen, hall and bath floors may date from the remodel, and that half her room may be slab. We cannot cannot figure what USED to be in the hall, but it is now simple quarter inch plywood, that is a tad shallower than the surrounding red oak narrow plank.
The original flooring (built in 1954) suffered a bit. WE can sand and revarnish and gt a nice finish, but it’s possible we may want to go to laminate all over (stone pattern in the kitchen, wood in the rest of the house)—but just getting that carpet out of my room is a delight, I don’t care if the floors are scarred. And we might opt just to do laminate in the missing sections. But just the rental of a floor sander and a little refinishing is not that spendy, and while we need to do something about the kitchen, all we need to do with the floor is just to get the carpet out. One roomful and half the office is now sitting on the porch, to be stuffed into the garbage can each week until it is gone, gone, gone.
I so love the bare floor in my room. The chair surprises me—every time I get up from the recliner it travels a bit backward, but the clean air is so nice. We literally found volcanic ash under the carpet, from St. Helens. It’s not certain whether it arrived in the eruption, or whether it just arrived later—in Washington St Helens’ dust is the gift that keeps on giving, every plowing season.
Turned out, in our walk today, most every eatery in Garland District, our old little shopping area, vintage about 1930—was closed. The place lives only after dark or on weekdays, apparently. To our new ‘regular’ place is a 1.5 mile round trip. It turned out food was only avaiable at The Milk Bottle, a place shaped exactly like that, vintage 1931, which is a bonafide old soda fountain/ice cream parlor/burger place. We had lunch, and tried to recover. It added half a mile to our normal route, and going 2 miles instead of 1.5 has us wheezing.
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