Lady Musteline

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Ah, time for pokery.  I want to work on the novel straight away, but for the most part, I’ve still been reading the old draft so that I don’t get so worked up into a scene if we’ve done something completely different earlier.  I like some parts, love some others, and some just give me hives because they feel so awkward and earnest and I don’t like seeing the stitching in the work.  Not stopping, though, just reading and re-syncing myself to this world. Characterization is pretty critical to what I’m doing at the moment, and I already found something that makes me wonder if I need to tweak yesterday’s work so I am thinking about that before I set back in.   I have to remember it’s a fantasy novel, and not a Philip K. Dick homage.  I just want darker where it’s dark and lighter where it’s light and to show skill.  When it plods, I feel like I’m being pulled through a molasses flood.  So, I’m here for today’s words so I have a little more relaxing time before bed.  If I can get a bit more out of me, that would be grand.

It was Monday so the day’s top news story is: I returned to work.  Not good, friends, not good, but what else can you do?  It is stressful to watch yourself not stress over things that you formerly agonized over.  Like, hey big shot, aren’t you going to get a wallop when you’re acting like a fiddlin’ grasshopper come winter?  That’s my current stage, though, the hardest working grasshopper not in showbusiness. The boss is ill, we’re working our cojones off, things are not progressing as it’s been inferred they would, bad news for bonzo.  I remain in a process of accepting the instability and insecurity of it all, and leaning into working on the novel is helping.

If I could be a novelist, hah, wouldn’t it be charming and delightful to stay home all day and write?  Charming and delightful until you’re begging for a little structure to push you forward?  First this book, this year.  Then, all the rest of the worries can goose-step, single-file towards my can crusher.

Meanwhile, we diet.  We don’t know if we diet well, but we diet.  We portion control for sure.  We track.  A few days ago I mentioned that I was damn sure that I was not doing this out of shame and I feel, finally, a 90% sure that was the right decision.  I don’t have that frightful notion that we’re going out to eat next Saturday and I will have to experience that in a reduced or limited way to “not fall off the wagon.”  Instead, we write it down.  We look at it, we drink more water, and we eat less before that day.  And we exercise without bitching about it.   Ain’t so bad.

It is happening – these past four days – and I hope it can keep happening.  There’s no gun to my head, but I know what I want.  I know what I want at the end of the year to do, and I want to do it with the confidence of having lost some of this weight.  So, huzzah.

Also, 1 book down (Move Aside, Pops!), 51 more to go!

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