Alcoholics and workaholics do grow from the same seed, after all.

I? Am a creature of extremes. When I'm drafting, it means that I'm drafting: 3000-4000 words a day, every day, until the book is finished. (In this case, until the series is finished. I'm going to need one hell of a pitcher of margaritas when it's done.) That's it. That's what I do. Well, that and walk around muttering to myself and clutching a mug of tea to my chest like it's a baby monkey and I'm it's mother, but I honestly sometimes do that solely because it's raining and I'm trapped inside for the weekend.

Let's meander our way back towards the point. Writing a draft takes a very specific part of my brain, one that is disturbingly non-analytical and more than a little crazy. Editing, covers, the nuts and bolts business end of things, all require a logical part of my brain that just doesn't mesh with the creative side. I kept having to switch back and forth between those aspects of my brain today, and I'm feeling a little schizophrenic as a result.

Good things happened, though! 2200 more words on No Such Place, bringing us to a current total of 24000, or just under one-third of the way through, and substantive work on three different covers, one of which is for a book not yet even written. It requires a pool, though, and I have a policy of not torturing my models if I can at all help it, so it's good to get these things nailed down in advance. In addition, I figured out a compromise for Super ≠ Model that I might even like better than my original dream cover, all with the bonus of not killing this model! Killing them is even worse than torturing them, right?

Now. Off for tea. I solemnly swear that I will neither pet it nor try to name it.

It's a perfect day to swan dramatically about the moors.

Hasn't stopped raining and thundering since about six this morning, and I've actually had to turn on my heat. I don't think that the new Jane Eyre is showing in my city yet, or this would be good weather for it. (Oh, Jaime Bell, the things that I do for you.)

I was planning on seeing the newest Scream offering with a friend yesterday, only to be felled by a truly hideous sinus headache that was the harbinger of the storm wailing and stomping outside my window right now. A shame that our schedules won't align today for a second go at it, because I am so in the mood for a good Final Girl right now. In the meantime, I suppose I should, you know, write a bit and justify my existence or something (I've only done 700 words today, that's pathetic), but weather like this nearly sucks out your will to live.

The random thoughts one has at the end of a vacation.

I would really like to see a vampire-human-werewolf novel wherein the werewolf character, in response to the human character expressing an interest in them, blurts out something along the lines of, "We are different species, what is wrong with you, that is sick!"

THAT IS HALF A SERIES. HOW DID THAT HAPPEN.

Human Remains



Two books down, two to go. It's too fat in the middle and too lean in the last three or so chapters where I was deeply, deeply tired and ready to be done, so that's a pretty accurate word count.

I figured that I would write ridiculous idfic for the rest of the day as a reward. I edited instead. Workaholic, thy name is Me.