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Name-Dropping, Ahoy
Jul. 9th, 2002 03:36 amI've been stuck near the end of Chapter 2 for a couple of months now. I can't make the bits I need to get out of the way so I can move on to the bits after them happen, which is unfortunate because I'm pretty sure I can make the bits after them happen fine. Case in point, I just made one of the exceptionally after-them bits happen. 680 words of alternating pathos and wacky comedy, but it could be worse, and it's the sort of thing I'd expect from those two.
It's the, you know, Sappy Love Bit with Sweeney and Rook, which I've been thinking about a lot, because I was dreading having to write it. I had no idea what Rook would say. Turns out he doesn't say anything. I should have anticipated that. He never does say much; he has barely half the number of lines Sweeney does in that scene, and that's if you count 'ow'.
680 words. The first words I've written in, oh, it must be a couple of months now at least. They're not bad words. I suppose it's better to have 680 words I won't be able to use because the events that lead up to those words will necessitate I rewrite them from scratch than it is to have no words at all.
In related news, Jo Walton emailed me the short story she wrote inspired by some ideas Elizabeth Shack and I tossed rasfc way when Catja Pafort asked for help filling in the blanks in a legend; it's really good, and I am at once sick with jealousy (and/or hormones) and filled with pride.
In unrelated news, the finger I tried to cut off is itching like a motherfucker, I'm running a mild fever, and I'm not as nauseous as I was earlier, but I'm not going to go so far as to say that I'm not nauseous. Well, maybe it is related: feeling like hell lowers my inhibitions.
It's the, you know, Sappy Love Bit with Sweeney and Rook, which I've been thinking about a lot, because I was dreading having to write it. I had no idea what Rook would say. Turns out he doesn't say anything. I should have anticipated that. He never does say much; he has barely half the number of lines Sweeney does in that scene, and that's if you count 'ow'.
680 words. The first words I've written in, oh, it must be a couple of months now at least. They're not bad words. I suppose it's better to have 680 words I won't be able to use because the events that lead up to those words will necessitate I rewrite them from scratch than it is to have no words at all.
In related news, Jo Walton emailed me the short story she wrote inspired by some ideas Elizabeth Shack and I tossed rasfc way when Catja Pafort asked for help filling in the blanks in a legend; it's really good, and I am at once sick with jealousy (and/or hormones) and filled with pride.
In unrelated news, the finger I tried to cut off is itching like a motherfucker, I'm running a mild fever, and I'm not as nauseous as I was earlier, but I'm not going to go so far as to say that I'm not nauseous. Well, maybe it is related: feeling like hell lowers my inhibitions.
