Please note that the kitten as such does not exist. The 3 a.m. squirrel, on the other hand, is chewing it a little kitten basket out of worthless Civil War banknotes.
OK, so far neither the kidlet nor myself has found a job, and I’m doing angst about it. Last night it took the form of waking up at 3 a.m. and obsessing about all the tragedy both real and projected I could dredge up. (It’s the “3 a.m. squirrel” because it runs round and round in your brain.) I called it quits when one scenario started with the kitten I’m planning to get this Christmas, and ended with my trying to scam the ER out of some opthalmic antibiotic ointment. I’m leaving the several intervening steps out of it, because we try to run a family blog here. Just note that again, said kitten is currently a twinkle in some tomcat’s eye right now, and we’ll move on.
It’s probably as well that the storyfying part of my brain is kicked on high, because Dark Crimson Corners is officially off my desk until it goes pro (heh; see angst) and Max is well underway. I’ve been underwhelmed by my plot idea for this, partly because Max told me I had to come up with one and I’m unfortunately my protagonists’ bitch whether I have one ready or not. But after a couple of months of flailing around in backstory, I’m finally getting good to go, and it looks like it’ll be ok-so-far. The thing that’s been hardest to shut off is the fear of Too Longness–DCC ended up 320K, I think–after cuts. I’m going to do my damnedest to ignore it while I write, and edit down later.
Meanwhile, the Achilles continues to heal (sorry), meaning I can now interact with the sweaty beauties of the Canterbrigian summer. (As opposed to the Jamaican Planiferous summers of the previous three years, which were merely sweaty.) My couch potato-hood lasted long enough for me to watch the entirety of Buffy on Netflix; it’s kind of embarrassing how comparatively little writing I got done that month+. I made a New Year’s resolution to update this blog once a week; this obviously hasn’t panned out, ’cause I’s lazy. And this catch-up doesn’t count, so I suppose it’s on to Plinky, which is the writing equivalent of that workout you have to add on because of Aunt Inez’ carrot cake at the family reunion. Hidey ho!