Two hours at the keyboard this morning; 784 words written on Frost. Not quite the level of productivity I’m hoping for from this routine, but there’s a level of exponential growth happening as I settle in. If I can jam out a thousand words on Friday (aka my only remaining day this week that gets shared with the day-job), I’ll dub the changes to my work schedule a success.
Unpacking goes well, at the new place. It’s slowed down a little now, ’cause I’ve been here long enough that all the boxes containing books have been emptied and placed on shelves, which means there’s an awful lot of oh, right, that. I really wanted to read that six months back and couldn’t find it. And then I’ll find myself on the couch, book in hand, until I’m lost in story and my alarm goes off to alert me that it’s time to go to bed.
The biggest find thus far has been a copy of Caitlin Kiernan’s Confessions of a Five-Chambered Heart, which I’d totally forgotten about buying. Judging by the release date, it’s probably been sitting in boxes since it first arrived, which is somewhat criminal on my part.
On the other hand, it’s exquisite, as Kiernan’s short fiction collections tend to be, and there’s something to be said for delayed gratification.
Finally, for those who don’t recognise the song that I lifted today’s title from:
