My first good night's sleep in over a week, no incipient migraine to drug, no waking to feeling roasted, no wrenching cramps. A few moments awake around 1AM, but drifted off again. My feet ached when I woke at 0734, so I got up and made tea and cereal and plopped the offending extremities on the foot massager as I ate and read comics. Moby joined me and had his breakfast, and is now happily snoozing - across my side of the bed beside D.
I have decided to follow Pacian's example, and do a fiction day once a week. Not really part of the novel, as such, but short side stories, deep background, ideas that need working out. Set it at 250-500 words, to post on, say, Monday. Starting next week. Since essay length is much more my strength, it may well help. I still hope to learn to plot, but I have to start getting some of this down, and out.
I have had this exchange from The Russia House in my mind all week, and had to look it up for the precise wording.
I am a moral outcast, I trade in defiled theories.
Always nice to meet a writer. What are you turning out these days?
Everything. History, comedy, lies, romances.
4 comments:
Await the fiction day posts with interest.
Sorry you have been having such a rough time, Z. May the improvement continue .....
mm,
It's a cyclical thing, menopausal thing. The end as rough as the beginning. The hand dealt. So, I deal.
(o)
The main change I've noticed is that I no longer have fun on Sunday evenings.
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