[Writing]
[writing] Endurance progriss riport, day 18
4,300 words in two hours across two sessions today, to 80,000 words on the manuscript. A little distracted due to cancer news, but writing eases my mind. It’s like meditation. Or fulfillment.
A number of my countrymen slept on the floor – more than I’d seen last night. Either the Dancing Mistress’ delegation had returned, or some of those upstairs had come back down. I’d have woken up to any raucous party, though.
The door was barred when I checked it. Interesting. To the best of my knowledge, the Tavernkeep didn’t really keep closing hours. At least he had not done so in the past.
I slipped the bar and looked outside. My breath steamed in the air. Several inches of snow blanketed the ground, the last of yesterday evening’s tracks filled in to soft hollows. The sky above was crystal sharp, stars glinting like knifepoints through velvet. No one watched. The whole city might have been asleep.
Perfect. Morning would find me making trouble in a very public way.
Posted: 5:49 pm Wed July 01 2009 |
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You are reading the blog of Jay Lake, speculative fiction writer and author of hundreds of short stories, many novels, and winner of the John W. Campbell Award.
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Karen Fonville
July 1st, 2009 at 10:36 pmMy goodness! Thou dost write muchly, my good man. I was slightly disappointed not to hear or see the crack of leather upon arriving at thine WIP… Perchance I took’t too literally? However, twas appeased by words that flowed most brilliantly, in place of said crack of leather! Thankest thou for the view ahead.
Elsewhere on thy site, I beheldst news of a contest to be thyself in perfect disguise. Might I be that person? Oh wait, mayhap not. Stricken with the scurge I once was, ’tis true, and round I am — though a mite closer to the ground, I daresay. That which abides longishly on thy head is not quite so long on mine, and shorter still ’tis on my countenance. Alas, that wip which flows freely from thy fingers in such bounty trickles slowly and faintly from these sluggards on mine hands.
I raise my cup in salute to you, dear fellow, filled with crystal red liquid, (Oh, doggone, it’s Crystal Light!) in hopes that thou and thine mightest have a bountiful and beautiful day!
Karen
(And may the day be cooler there than here!)