beardyTess (is not very beardy)

Week One of my beard-growing foray.



Clearly, I still have a lot to learn.

Today, I WROTE.

Myself and another masochist decided have a go at making a writing group. Not a submit-stories-and-meet-up-and-crit-them group, but a get-together-shut-up-and-write-then-go-have-cake group. We ventured deeper into the State Library than I have ever been, and whoa. Apparently desk space is prime real estate on a Saturday afternoon. We made rounds of the rear reading room, whispering and waiting for cannibals to eat us (well, I was waiting for cannibals, I don't think Andrew is much phased by cannibals), and eventually found a desk on the upper level. Always good to have a view to stare blankly at when you're between sentences.

And wrote.

Well. I read. According to Eddie's records, I haven't opened the document since November, which is a terrible, heart-wrenching thing. Has it been so long? I'm sorry, novel, I really am. But things came up. Did you know, in the last three months I've crit three books? That's a lot of critting. Let me confess to you; I love critting. The fascist dictator psychopath arsehole in me likes nothing better than to tear through your baby and point out everything you're doing wrong and then get all arrogant and obnoxious and tell you how to do it right. It's atrocious, I know. But I think you'll agree with me when I say it's better for me to get these fascist dictator psychopath arsehole urges out of my system by critting than by ruling the world, wouldn't you say?

Critting a novel is a huge timesink, however, and I'm constantly underestimating not just how much time it takes to do a thorough job, but how much space in my head it takes up. For the moment, the decks are clear, and oh me, oh my, the novel and I are going to have some hot keyboard-on-wordprocessor action.

After a quick catch up read (argh I don't remember where in the story I am or where the characters are or where they're going oh shit wait when did that happen I don't remember writing that) I got typing, and holy shit it's appalling. It's the sort of shit you don't find because it never sees the light of day. It's me figuring out what the hell is going on, there's absolutely no character in there because I haven't quite remembered how the characters work yet, but I got every one off the ground, and ended with the first shot being fired, and I'm SO EXCITED. 1500 words!

Eeeeeeeee!

And then Eddie's battery got low and we stopped.

There is still the matter of an uncooperative short story I must address, but that is...something strange and complicated that has nothing to do with writing. I've given myself leave to not think about it for a while. There are battles to be waged! (And action scenes to write, oh, yes, joy, ugh.)

Now I cannae wait till next Saturday, to do it again. Hopefully with additional masochists. Which will increase my chances of escaping the cannibals.