|Peppercorn on the pelmet, ready to laser all intruders (who don't bring kitty snacks.)|
Be it the sun or the cat, I'm all in favour of lights in the darkness.
Spring has arrived, and the purple crocuses and other garden inhabitants are popping up, which makes me very happy. Spring is usually a prolific time for me, so I'm trying to get busy. I'm plowing on with my novel again. I begin to wonder if my characters are all half-lizard; they don't seem to want to get going. I poke them with pointy sticks and they lie there like so much road-kill. I have come to the conclusion that I am poking them with the wrong stick. I need a bigger one. Or one made of marshmallow. Or a stick shaped like a tank. I don't know. I'll try anything once, though.
I have an obscene number of books on writing, which I read and re-read bits of, off and on. I honestly can't tell if any of it is sinking in or not. I would love to believe that my subconscious is making use if it all without telling me, but who knows? Writing down words and shredding them afterwards seems to be the most effective learning method for me, so I'm off.
After this word: I hate to bring this up, almost. I know I'm very late to the game, either pro or con, but I'm just reading Twilight (yes, that Twilight) and I'm sort of in shock.