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Jay Lake
Date: 2011-09-01 05:41
Subject: [writing] Closing in on Sunspin volume one
Security: Public
Tags:books, calamity, cancer, health, sunspin, writing

I’m in the downhill slide now. I figure another 12-16,000 words from here and I’ll have a wrap on the first draft of Calamity of So Long A Life.

Yesterday was the first day since last Thursday I could write, thanks to the marvels of chemotherapy. It was nice to slip back into the characters and watch them move through the page. I’m of course riddled with self doubt right now … “More characterization” … “Not enough description” … “This sucks” … but that’s all part of the drafting process. And this is definitely a draft. I like it a lot, but I do think it will need more clanky bits later.

Mmm. Clanky bits.

Did you write yesterday? Post a snippet in comments if you’d like. It’ll be like a really odd version of exquisite corpse.

Originally published at jlake.com. You can comment here or there.

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User: eljaydaly
Date: 2011-09-01 14:04 (UTC)
Subject: (no subject)
I'll play the snippet game! Drafty, sucky, and all.

"Your imagination didn't kill two people."

But had the wind, Wym wondered? He'd watched the noon-wind himself. It had blustered through the cloud garden with no more than typical force. From Velado's window Wym had seen no evidence of violence, of purposeful malice. No changing of direction, no pointed fierceness in any particular corner. And immediately afterward in the garden he'd sensed no hint of sweet-black magic like licorice, subtle or not.
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mlerules: poly
User: mlerules
Date: 2011-09-01 15:33 (UTC)
Subject: (no subject)
Well, I got some really good journaling in last night. Nada you (or anybody) will see here, mind you...'twas PaperJournal private stuff...much needed. :-)
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Jay Lake: signs-never_give_up
User: jaylake
Date: 2011-09-01 15:46 (UTC)
Subject: (no subject)
I'm glad, coz, yes, I know why it was much needed.
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User: joycemocha
Date: 2011-09-01 15:53 (UTC)
Subject: (no subject)
Not writing yet, damnit. I have two short stories that have mugged me this summer that are in sketch and worldbuilding form, but crap (otherwise known as life) keeps mugging me and I'm just not ready yet.

Doing lots of tech writing. I don't think you really want to read snippets of lesson plans or the artfully creative e-mails and memos I'm writing to hack the typical educrat mindset....
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User: selfavowedgeek
Date: 2011-09-01 21:15 (UTC)
Subject: (no subject)
Reallllly tickled about the progress on CoSLaL. Most interested in this project.

Okay, got some writing done on the Southern Arthuriana novel. Post a chunk of the WIP yesterday and today to ye old blogge, but here's a bit of tidbittery:

Once he got to the truck, Luther found his tailgate down and Eva sitting there. She twitched her head; a few blue-black feathers spiraled out of her hair and drifted lazily to the gravel.

“Hate when you do that,” said Luther.

“What’s that?”

“Just showing up uninvited like, for one.”

“For other?”



“Well, hell, Eva.” Luther leaned with his elbows on the pickup bed after balancing both drink and burger nearby. “What you want?”

“To talk.”

“We’re doing it.”

“Barely, Luther Gideon Penderton.”

“Oh, beg pardon. Perhaps you meant conversate,” said Luther.

Her smile a razor, she said, “Have you been reading again?”

“I have, and the books have no pictures.”

Eva eased off the tailgate and shut it--SQUEAK-SLAM. The three feathers on the gravel rumpled, then dissolved. A trio of viscous goop slithered among the stones and crept up her sandaled feet--black vascularity throbbing into flesh.

“See? That, Eva. Hard for a man to abide such as that,” said Luther, grabbing his drink and burger. . . .
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Reynardo the Red
User: reynardo
Date: 2011-09-02 10:53 (UTC)
Subject: (no subject)
(Names slightly changed to protect me from the sarcastic laughter)

The shrill tones of the older woman had an effect not unlike fingernails down a blackboard. She had dressed in a bright pink linen dress and a hat that had probably started as a lovely summer concoction of flowers, but had been crushed and trodden on and bore little of its former glory. As she buzzed towards Luke, David was reminded of nothing so much as an enormous pink blow fly homing in on its target.
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