Would have been nice to have gotten out a post yesterday, yanno, because of our calendarly-significant passage of time, but events conspired to prevent that.
Not that I’m complaining. For the first time in … forever? … I went out on New Years Eve and stayed out until 5:00 am. Glorious. I didn’t go anywhere, but instead tucked in with a couple of fellow nerds, drinking jello shooters and drinks mixed with skittles-infused vodka (which begged the question of what other drinks that magician’s trick could be used upon, and I think experiments should, nay, must be conducted, especially with sour candies!), and we sat around and just talked. Random topics with little coherence. Or, as much coherence as the drunkest of us could follow. No one seemed to mind. There was some squeeing, though! When Aura and I discovered a mutual passion for Connie Willis (go here, here, and here), there was some very fangirl-ish jumping up and down and promises of book exchanges. On the Nerd Meter, it was pretty high, and I got a lot of vicarious book shelf snooping in as well.
Planning for my near-comatose state, I slept in the first morning of the new year, and when I did rise, I spent it with one Mr. Harlan Ellison and his collection, The Land of Fear. Very good, but has only whet my appetite. More will come. In the meantime, I am finally cracking open Patrick Rothfuss’s Name of the Wind, which I am sure will make Julia very happy. On that note, I have updated my Book Blog pages, retiring 2010’s list and starting up a new one for 2011. Check it out, up above, if you are so inclined.
I’m in a weird place right now with regards to my writing. I’ve promised myself a month to recuperate from BLOOD before diving into the edits but frankly NOT getting right into it is driving me all kinds of nuts. It’s a scab I so desperately want to pick at, but I am bitting my lip and trying to find something else for my fingers to do. And since I haven’t written since the last deluge where I finished the draft, I am extra twitchy. My goal is to try and focus that nervous energy into writing exercises, free-writing, and whatever other small projects I can work on as well as some study — namely the Writing Craft textbook.
So this morning, well-rested, fully caffeinated, I am tidying up a few small things and then whipping out the exercise I started at work yesterday to finish it off as a short piece of flash fiction. A possible ending came to me last night before bed that I want to try out.
Which pleases me the most. I might not have written a lot, but I wrote something. And that’s ultimately how I want to start my year, and finish it. Every year.
(I am also still waiting, agonizingly so, for word on the short story I submitted to an anthology. My anxiety has reached the point where I check and re-check to make sure I have sent the submission out and stalking the editor’s Twitter feed. ARGH! But in a good way.)