1147

1147

1147 of rough­ly 39300

On nights like this, there isn't much to say. Heather had half the day off so after mend­ing fences from last night in the ear­li­er part of her shift and because of being on the phone near-con­stant­ly in our new Covid-nor­mal in the sec­ond half, I start­ed writ­ing much ear­li­er than my nor­mal 9:30 PM, and so by din­ner­time now I've got­ten my words in and may even be able to write again lat­er on dur­ing my nor­mal time.

I do have a nor­mal time to write. 999 times out of a thou­sand, I'm writ­ing at 9:30 PM every night, and I write until I get to 500 words with­in the hour or a thou­sand, or some­times, rarely, more. More often than not when it's going well, I get a thou­sand words, so that's what I judge by: 500 min­i­mum, the Gra­ham Greene pre­scrip­tion, as described in The End of the Affair, but a thou­sand mark­ing out a good strong day's writ­ing. More than that, the Mus­es are smil­ing on me. Last night, a bad night that made me feel shit­ty until I sat down to write this after­noon, like a hang­over. Tonight? Some­thing else again. The only way through is for­ward.

I'm going to read now, and drink cof­fee, and maul a cat while I do. On deck, Cocaine and Blue Eyes, by Fred Zack­el, Sim­ple Jus­tice by John Mor­gan Wil­son and final­ly, Stoneb­urn­er, by William Gay. I'm halfway through the Zack­el, a third through Sim­ple Jus­tice and I haven't begin Stoneb­urn­er yet, though I've owned it and start­ed it a few times. I can already tell it's not top-notch Gay, but it's inter­est­ing, as the master's minu­ti­ae often are.

Edit in: 11:23 PM. Got an extra thou­sand words in for over 40K now. Halfway.

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