Happy Tuesday, chickens!
Isn’t this the greatest spooky Gothic picture ever? This is actually three pictures of the University (Glasgow) combined into one — one focused on the sky, the other focused on the building foreground and the other, background. Really — this is what it looks like when a storm is coming in, and you need to literally run to get under cover because it draws toward you like drapes across a rod — interminably, inexorably, driven by winds and often accompanied by get-moving-faster chunks of hail to sting you upside the head. The weather in Scotland is very dramatic, very moody, and a lot like me at thirteen. What’s not to love?
Bring on the old-school Chuck Woolery music, Maggie Stiefvater is playing Love Connection. (I haven’t watched the Game Show Network in awhile, so all I’m stuck with is the theme to The Love Boat. And now you are too. Hee!)! Maggie’s Love Connection is a fabulous idea to assist other writers in finding that perfect critique partner. Maggie has invited her blog readers to post a single sentence description of their book or their book’s genre, and a tiny bit of information designed to narrow down the field of people searching desperately for someone to work with. Go. Check it out, and good luck.
Susan Patron is on the Powell’s blog today, talking about Lucky Breaks, her sequel to the awesome Higher Power of Lucky. I have to say that Lucky is one character I really enjoyed, so I look forward to catching up on what else is going on in her life, dog scrotums and all…
Meanwhile, you knew she’d get there eventually: Justina goes geocaching in FORKS. Yes. That Forks. The Cullens were in Florida, however, so she got back with all of her vital liquids…
Revise, Rewrite, Repeat. It’s where I’m at today, and just to remind myself of a few pertinent facts, I shall invoke The Pullman:
“I don’t believe in writer’s block.
All writing is difficult. The most you can hope for is a day when it goes reasonably easily. Plumbers don’t get plumber’s block and doctors don’t get doctor’s block; why should writers be the only profession that gives a special name to the difficulty of working, and then expects sympathy for it?”
~ Philip Pullman
Off to pace and read my manuscript aloud, in hopes that I can continue to crack open its carapace, and suck out its marrow. Or something in the mixed metaphor category.