hawkwing_lb: (Bear CM weep for the entire world)
I spent part of today futzing around with Paypal, figuring out how to transfer money to my actual bank account, and vice versa. (I am behindhand, and have not heretofore done this thing.)

The rest of the day... Well, there was a very terrible Greek test, in which I - once again - discover I'm fine with vocabulary and not awful at parsing, but give me principal parts and I wibble to pieces.

Thereafter I spent much of the afternoon avoiding my thesis and working on a truly terrible fiction. It's a space opera, which I am playing with purely for the hell of, heedless of anything resembling quality control. Because I want to write about spunky space pirates and human trafficking this week, apparently. Rather than Describe All The Things.

Then socialising, in a civilised place on Exchequer St. And thereafter homeward bound, where I resolved that I should probably invest in Wheelock's Latin grammar, since it's less than half as expensive as the Cambridge course, and I keep thinking that Latin would be a useful thing to do.

(In my copious spare time.)
hawkwing_lb: (No dumping dead bodies!)
There's a fifth of a book on my harddrive.

You don't want to know how long I've been writing it, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

My records go back to January 2007, with a file (09-01-07 "early morning" is its actual name) containing four thousand words. But it's older than that.

This fifth of a book (it was a third of a book, once, for a brief, glorious time) has been rewritten from scratch at least twice. I abandoned it in despair, swore off it, vowed I'd never write another word - and broke all my promises.

I keep coming back to it.

In Thessaloniki, I hadn't written a word of fiction for months. I opened a file that had fifteen thousand words in it. By the end of the week in which I was sick, there were twenty thousand. And thus it has remained. Until tonight, when I - driven by some stubborn compulsion - opened the file to pick at it.

Now there are 20,200 words.

I guess I can't give it up.

Although I may have to revisit the metaphysics... But that's window-dressing for now.

hawkwing_lb: (No dumping dead bodies!)
There's a fifth of a book on my harddrive.

You don't want to know how long I've been writing it, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

My records go back to January 2007, with a file (09-01-07 "early morning" is its actual name) containing four thousand words. But it's older than that.

This fifth of a book (it was a third of a book, once, for a brief, glorious time) has been rewritten from scratch at least twice. I abandoned it in despair, swore off it, vowed I'd never write another word - and broke all my promises.

I keep coming back to it.

In Thessaloniki, I hadn't written a word of fiction for months. I opened a file that had fifteen thousand words in it. By the end of the week in which I was sick, there were twenty thousand. And thus it has remained. Until tonight, when I - driven by some stubborn compulsion - opened the file to pick at it.

Now there are 20,200 words.

I guess I can't give it up.

Although I may have to revisit the metaphysics... But that's window-dressing for now.

hawkwing_lb: (Criminal Minds JJ what you had to do)
You know, I really need to get around this inability to settle down and study. It might just prove problematic.




I have a confession.

For the last three - four? - months, I haven't had the emotional energy to think about writing original fiction. I am sure many people might admit this to be quite normal, with a thesis and final year exams to dwell upon.

On the other hand, I've started writing fanfiction in that span of time. It doesn't require investment. It doesn't matter to me in the same way. It started as a way to keep my hand in, to keep some half-assed memory of how to write sentences and paragraphs that aren't academic nonsense. But I've written something like fifteen thousand words of it in the last month alone. It doesn't require commitment.

Perhaps it says something about me that I find this worrying.




Today, I committed the extravagance of purchasing new tshirts. It feels very unusual, since it's almost a year since I bought a tshirt.

(Yes. I wear things until they fall apart and then some.)
hawkwing_lb: (Criminal Minds JJ what you had to do)
You know, I really need to get around this inability to settle down and study. It might just prove problematic.




I have a confession.

For the last three - four? - months, I haven't had the emotional energy to think about writing original fiction. I am sure many people might admit this to be quite normal, with a thesis and final year exams to dwell upon.

On the other hand, I've started writing fanfiction in that span of time. It doesn't require investment. It doesn't matter to me in the same way. It started as a way to keep my hand in, to keep some half-assed memory of how to write sentences and paragraphs that aren't academic nonsense. But I've written something like fifteen thousand words of it in the last month alone. It doesn't require commitment.

Perhaps it says something about me that I find this worrying.




Today, I committed the extravagance of purchasing new tshirts. It feels very unusual, since it's almost a year since I bought a tshirt.

(Yes. I wear things until they fall apart and then some.)
hawkwing_lb: (Criminal Minds JJ what you had to do)
I suppose I shouldn't end the year without another project to write. Not that I don't have enough of those already, even after the thesis.

So here's the start of one more.




And it didn't even come with a title. )




I think it is possible I am far too optimistic, sometimes. Since I've been trying to write the other book for nearly three years now.

*sigh*

One day I'll finish it. Finish them all.
hawkwing_lb: (Criminal Minds JJ what you had to do)
I suppose I shouldn't end the year without another project to write. Not that I don't have enough of those already, even after the thesis.

So here's the start of one more.




And it didn't even come with a title. )




I think it is possible I am far too optimistic, sometimes. Since I've been trying to write the other book for nearly three years now.

*sigh*

One day I'll finish it. Finish them all.
hawkwing_lb: (No dumping dead bodies!)
Someone tell me why, the very night before I go back to class, the first line and the plot of a novel fall into my head?

The airship Marie-Celeste lay like a tethered dragon in the dark waters of her berth, furled armatures of her golden sunsails folded wings along her sides.

How strange is life?
hawkwing_lb: (No dumping dead bodies!)
Someone tell me why, the very night before I go back to class, the first line and the plot of a novel fall into my head?

The airship Marie-Celeste lay like a tethered dragon in the dark waters of her berth, furled armatures of her golden sunsails folded wings along her sides.

How strange is life?
hawkwing_lb: (Criminal Minds JJ what you had to do)
I have a confession to make.

I've been writing again. Re-writing, actually, since I got so stuck at 30K with the ongoing project way back in January, and have had neither time nor brain enough to examine why until the last month. This will be the third year of me working on the same book. Possibly the fourth: my records don't go back that far.

Each iteration of the first 20-30K words has gotten closer to the shape of the story I want to tell. I'm hopeful that this time, since I finally know who my antagonist is and what she's doing in the story, that this might be the iteration that ends up closer to a complete draft: I've spent the last two-three weeks patching old material in with new for the first 10K, and although it has far too many flaws, I'm still excited about it.

Three, four years on, I'm still excited about working on this. So I guess I'm stuck working on it until the excitement dies the final death, or I finish.

I'd really like to finish. But I have this thesis thing this year, so I'm not going to put myself under any pressure. What comes, comes.
hawkwing_lb: (Criminal Minds JJ what you had to do)
I have a confession to make.

I've been writing again. Re-writing, actually, since I got so stuck at 30K with the ongoing project way back in January, and have had neither time nor brain enough to examine why until the last month. This will be the third year of me working on the same book. Possibly the fourth: my records don't go back that far.

Each iteration of the first 20-30K words has gotten closer to the shape of the story I want to tell. I'm hopeful that this time, since I finally know who my antagonist is and what she's doing in the story, that this might be the iteration that ends up closer to a complete draft: I've spent the last two-three weeks patching old material in with new for the first 10K, and although it has far too many flaws, I'm still excited about it.

Three, four years on, I'm still excited about working on this. So I guess I'm stuck working on it until the excitement dies the final death, or I finish.

I'd really like to finish. But I have this thesis thing this year, so I'm not going to put myself under any pressure. What comes, comes.
hawkwing_lb: (No dumping dead bodies!)
Books 2009: 49.

49. Anthony Price, The Alamut Ambush.

The excellent thing about a college library is that you can get out of print crime/spy novels from the seventies. Among other things.

This is a good book, decently constructed, if trying to be perhaps a little too clever: the main plot involves Israelis and Arabs and murder. Interesting stuff.




Achievement today included a mile and a half in fourteen minutes, a 6B climb (albeit with pauses), almost two lead climbs, and a bunch of other climbs.

My dental appointment was also painless, so I call today a win. Overall.

On the lose front, however, The Cat has disappeared into the garden, and has not been home since morning. He hasn't eaten yesterday or today, and he's been yowling about his mouth a bit, so I'm worried.




On the train home, I had the first paragraph of another story fall into my head. I appear to be making up for the months of concentration on academic subjects.

Sunset glared golden off the water. Seagulls spiralled over the Horn, tiny flecks of white vivid through grey smoke and red sparks.

The city burned.

Karia Senmouthis watched from the prow of her masted dromon, out of reach of the oared galleys of the blockade. Fifteen miles off Sikyon: hours too late. The Albans had breached the walls. No point now in driving her squadron - five ships, their oarsmen idle, waiting for orders; five hundred archers, a thousand men, their silence after days of noise making the sound of the light breeze in the stays seem deafening - past the blockade.

The brand on her cheek itched. An imaginary irritation: the damage had been minimal, and she'd had years to grow used to it. But it reminded her the captain awaited her decision. To turn back, or go forward and greet the conquerors?



Why am I getting an education, if not to rip it off and write fictions? If only I could finish one.
hawkwing_lb: (No dumping dead bodies!)
Books 2009: 49.

49. Anthony Price, The Alamut Ambush.

The excellent thing about a college library is that you can get out of print crime/spy novels from the seventies. Among other things.

This is a good book, decently constructed, if trying to be perhaps a little too clever: the main plot involves Israelis and Arabs and murder. Interesting stuff.




Achievement today included a mile and a half in fourteen minutes, a 6B climb (albeit with pauses), almost two lead climbs, and a bunch of other climbs.

My dental appointment was also painless, so I call today a win. Overall.

On the lose front, however, The Cat has disappeared into the garden, and has not been home since morning. He hasn't eaten yesterday or today, and he's been yowling about his mouth a bit, so I'm worried.




On the train home, I had the first paragraph of another story fall into my head. I appear to be making up for the months of concentration on academic subjects.

Sunset glared golden off the water. Seagulls spiralled over the Horn, tiny flecks of white vivid through grey smoke and red sparks.

The city burned.

Karia Senmouthis watched from the prow of her masted dromon, out of reach of the oared galleys of the blockade. Fifteen miles off Sikyon: hours too late. The Albans had breached the walls. No point now in driving her squadron - five ships, their oarsmen idle, waiting for orders; five hundred archers, a thousand men, their silence after days of noise making the sound of the light breeze in the stays seem deafening - past the blockade.

The brand on her cheek itched. An imaginary irritation: the damage had been minimal, and she'd had years to grow used to it. But it reminded her the captain awaited her decision. To turn back, or go forward and greet the conquerors?



Why am I getting an education, if not to rip it off and write fictions? If only I could finish one.
hawkwing_lb: (Default)
So, climbing.

Not a terrible night, all told: I had some strength back, and some courage. Three routes sent, all of which I had done before, and three more routes improved upon. Although I'm very annoyed with the lack of posted grades: it's hard to tell if I'm improving, or what.

I also spent a little time on the bouldering section. They have one problem that's all jugs, a ladder, and I did some ten-second straight arm hangs and (attempted, at least) bent arm hangs. They're kind of hard.

Apparently there are bouldering problems out at Portrane. I might have to see if I can talk the parent into driving me there this weekend or next to check them out.


College work proceeds apace. A very slow resentful pace: I should dearly like to carve time out for writing without feeling a mountain of guilt descend on my shoulders for using limited brain power for what is, technically, a hobby.

Said hobby had two hours and ~1000 words worth of note-taking expended on it today, in a response to "Merlin" and various piddling bits of medievalistic fantasy. (I should have been doing Greek, really.) Ah, well. There is yet time.

There damn well better be.



I don't even read the papers, and passing the headlines on the newstand in the morning makes my stomach clench. The parent has made noises about me possibly approaching the banks to see if there are any useful affordable student types of loan left.

Read more... )

So. Still not monarch of the universe. Better get cracking, then.
hawkwing_lb: (Default)
So, climbing.

Not a terrible night, all told: I had some strength back, and some courage. Three routes sent, all of which I had done before, and three more routes improved upon. Although I'm very annoyed with the lack of posted grades: it's hard to tell if I'm improving, or what.

I also spent a little time on the bouldering section. They have one problem that's all jugs, a ladder, and I did some ten-second straight arm hangs and (attempted, at least) bent arm hangs. They're kind of hard.

Apparently there are bouldering problems out at Portrane. I might have to see if I can talk the parent into driving me there this weekend or next to check them out.


College work proceeds apace. A very slow resentful pace: I should dearly like to carve time out for writing without feeling a mountain of guilt descend on my shoulders for using limited brain power for what is, technically, a hobby.

Said hobby had two hours and ~1000 words worth of note-taking expended on it today, in a response to "Merlin" and various piddling bits of medievalistic fantasy. (I should have been doing Greek, really.) Ah, well. There is yet time.

There damn well better be.



I don't even read the papers, and passing the headlines on the newstand in the morning makes my stomach clench. The parent has made noises about me possibly approaching the banks to see if there are any useful affordable student types of loan left.

Read more... )

So. Still not monarch of the universe. Better get cracking, then.
hawkwing_lb: (No dumping dead bodies!)
My internets at home appear to be broken. Sigh.

Yesterday's achievements were many.
Read more... )

The future:

Due November 27: one Roman history essay, one Diasporas in Antiquity essay. (c 5.5K of essay)
Due December 1: one Roman history presentation. (c1.0K of words for talking, plus pretty Powerpoint pictures.)
Due January 9: one Paul & early Christianity essay, one Diasporas in Antiquity essay (c 5.0K of essay)
Due January 13: one Roman history presentation written form. (c2.0K of words, plus images)

Hello, research. I will be so glad when I can decide my own.




So, yeah, this is where I become (become? Who am I kidding? I'm already being) boring focus girl. Stand by for weekly updates on the glamorous life of me.

Apart from next week. Hey, lj, anyone interesting going to be at WFC?

(Anyone I might know from this corner of the internets who might say hello?)

(I have passed this off to my lecturers as me, exploring career options in the grand world of publishing. [Otherwise they'd dock me for failure to attend classes, and that could kill my faint hopes of pulling off a big fat "I" at the end of this year.] Of course, we all know that really I'm going because Canada! and smart people talking books! But don't break my cover, k? :P )
hawkwing_lb: (No dumping dead bodies!)
My internets at home appear to be broken. Sigh.

Yesterday's achievements were many.
Read more... )

The future:

Due November 27: one Roman history essay, one Diasporas in Antiquity essay. (c 5.5K of essay)
Due December 1: one Roman history presentation. (c1.0K of words for talking, plus pretty Powerpoint pictures.)
Due January 9: one Paul & early Christianity essay, one Diasporas in Antiquity essay (c 5.0K of essay)
Due January 13: one Roman history presentation written form. (c2.0K of words, plus images)

Hello, research. I will be so glad when I can decide my own.




So, yeah, this is where I become (become? Who am I kidding? I'm already being) boring focus girl. Stand by for weekly updates on the glamorous life of me.

Apart from next week. Hey, lj, anyone interesting going to be at WFC?

(Anyone I might know from this corner of the internets who might say hello?)

(I have passed this off to my lecturers as me, exploring career options in the grand world of publishing. [Otherwise they'd dock me for failure to attend classes, and that could kill my faint hopes of pulling off a big fat "I" at the end of this year.] Of course, we all know that really I'm going because Canada! and smart people talking books! But don't break my cover, k? :P )
hawkwing_lb: (No dumping dead bodies!)
I remember what I hate about typing in my bedroom in winter weather. The draft is cold and damp and makes the joint at the very bottom of my thumb hurt. And my knuckles.

Gods, the weather is freaking nasty, since Tuesday. And very little light on the horizon.

So, writing. It's... not easy - when is it ever? - but right now I'm avoiding bookhate by the skin of my thumbs. I've got too much distance between me and at least one of my protagonists: too much trouble getting into his skin and understanding how he thinks - how he ought to think.

I'm aware that the only way to get past this is to write to the end. And really, there are times when I'm able to get deeper under his skin, which makes me wonder if I'm putting this scene in for the right reasons.

Anway. We advance, by inches, towards 29K. What's that, nearly one-third of a book? One-third of a book. I swear, the more I write, the longer it gets.

It feels like a third of a book, anyway. So, you know. Here's hoping to get it done by this time next year.

Yeah, I'm really that slow.
hawkwing_lb: (No dumping dead bodies!)
I remember what I hate about typing in my bedroom in winter weather. The draft is cold and damp and makes the joint at the very bottom of my thumb hurt. And my knuckles.

Gods, the weather is freaking nasty, since Tuesday. And very little light on the horizon.

So, writing. It's... not easy - when is it ever? - but right now I'm avoiding bookhate by the skin of my thumbs. I've got too much distance between me and at least one of my protagonists: too much trouble getting into his skin and understanding how he thinks - how he ought to think.

I'm aware that the only way to get past this is to write to the end. And really, there are times when I'm able to get deeper under his skin, which makes me wonder if I'm putting this scene in for the right reasons.

Anway. We advance, by inches, towards 29K. What's that, nearly one-third of a book? One-third of a book. I swear, the more I write, the longer it gets.

It feels like a third of a book, anyway. So, you know. Here's hoping to get it done by this time next year.

Yeah, I'm really that slow.
hawkwing_lb: (Garcia freak flag)
...In the hopes this might aid my concentration, so to speak.

More like the First Paragraph Meme, but still.

Short stories )

So, if I was to pick a short story to work on finishing betwen now and the new year, which should it be? I ask you, because I'm incapable of choosing, myself. *indecisive*

Novels )


I know which novel I'm working on finishing. It might take me another year or more, but duellist will succumb. (I have too many other ideas I want to work on for it not to.)

(My major fault is being slow.)

But short stories? Please. Help me pick one! Because otherwise I'll just tap about picking at all of them, and getting none much closer to finished.

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