Eric is back to class today. The majority of his classes are MWF between 8am and 5pm. (The minority being on…Saturday.) So, for half the time this semester I will relive the glory of Eric being gone most of the day. It’s not that I don’t enjoy Eric’s company. Quite the contrary. Take last Friday for instance. We talked about various subjects for four hours straight and then went shopping and had a late lunch. Productivity (or at least my productivity) tends to plummet when we’re around each other. Hence, a slightly staggered sleep/wake schedule is helpful. Just as long as I’m the one who is awake first, because I don’t appreciate anyone’s company after I’ve just woke up.
Still haven’t finished my draft of Divine Fire. I hate fight scenes.
A note about my writing life:
I have been banned for the duration of writing novels from watching movies and television shows based in the southeastern United States. For some strange reason, I have the tendency to take on the style of the South much like milk takes on the flavors of the chicken salad left next to it. If I believed in past lives, I definitely grew up south of the Mason-Dixon. The problem is my writing, which is already overly influenced by late 19th century writers, takes on a baroque quality of higher magnitude than usual. Hardly, nearly and barely creep back into my vocabulary, and my characters start taking the long way ’round and certainly not rushing to get there. Brevity and I part ways.
I can only hope that watching something like this will rub off and have the opposite effect. (It probably won’t. It’s the South and whatever bizarre tie I have to it, having never been there.) I blame being a young child in the era of Jimmy Carter and The Dukes of Hazzard.) (Also, Dara O’Briain is *really* funny and potentially offensive. Edit: He tends to somewhat embarrass audience members.)