I was going to go for a swim.
I wrote.
I was going to go running.
I wrote.
I was going to buy Christmas presents.
I wrote.
I was going to wrap Christmas presents.
I wrote.
I was going to put together an invoice.
I wrote.
I was going to put together a course application.
I wrote.
I did make a phone call, receive a phone call, and find some Javascript to place random pictures on the blog (thanks to Cameron Gregory for his random image selector). I ate chocolate (shouldn’t have), spent some time in the used bookstore (likewise, shouldn’t have). But mostly what I did was continue a tear-apart, put-together revision on Graveyards which I was going to defer until I’d finished the list of missing scenes prepared at my last cafe session. But I started tinkering with some details that were niggling at me, and the next thing I knew I was running amuck. I was in that gratifyingly ruthless frame of mind that enables me to say: If there’s no point to it, it goes. If I can do it more simply, it goes. If I can’t figure out how to fix it, it goes. Repetitive scenes go; useful parts are plucked out of scenes that go nowhere and tucked into scenes that already work; dialogue that says nothing goes. I’ve got half a book that mostly stands up, though major caulking is still required before I’d put to sea in it (!) and t’other half is a bunch of strong looking planks untidily propped against each other. Pity tomorrow’s Monday, eh, or I’d just go on until I dropped.