Ahhh yes, this is where the magic happens. Well, sometimes it's magic. Other times it’s a heinous pile of dog crap but hey, every day can't be sunshine and roses, and even a crappy writing day is better than the best day at the office.
Anyway, I kept saying I'd post a pix of my writing space once I got a digital camera, and now that I do, well here it is (not bad having Christian Bale lurking over my desk every minute of the day, huh?):
It looks a little messy. I really do need to straighten things up one of these days. The clutter is starting to fester.
And I'm out of bookshelf space. I need one of those libraries they have in the English country houses that's nothing but wall to wall bookshelves. Then maybe I'd have enough room. Then again, I'd probably just use that as an excuse to buy more books.
Meanwhile, I haven't actually been writing in it. This week I've spent sitting on my couch reading through Brimstone, making notes and being pleased as punch that I love this book as much now as I did when the idea originally hit me. Maybe even more so. For a first draft (and excluding the freakish overkill of the word 'as') I'm pleased with the shape it's in. But being up on the couch, the computer hasn't been on in the morning, hence my lack of postings this week.
Next week I'll be back. Next week is query the agent week. Ah queries...right up there with synopsis as my least favorite thing. Sigh... I think I'll go console myself by watching Eight Below with Paul Walker. According to the back blurb Disney calls it a film the whole family will treasure so I'm operating on the assumption none of the dogs die. Then again, they probably said the same thing when they were marketing Ol' Yeller. Oh and don't even get me started on Where The Red Fern Grows. I'm still emotionally scarred from that movie. Everyone always seems so surprised when they hear Walt Disney didn't like kids. I say just look at the movies he put out and that should erode your surprise with the speed of an oncoming train.
Anyway, enough of that. I'm off to spend the next two hours drooling over Paul Walker.