Writerly Stuff for 9/22/05
Sep. 23rd, 2005 11:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raefinlayProgress: More Elisa's Belly.
Made-up words: smooshed, torchlit, handspan. Compounding words really pisses Word off.
Barely avoided clichés: A ghost of a smile...
The words I'll hate most to cut: Be smarter than Alodia, my nurse had warned.
"No, thank you, Ximena. I'd prefer the freesia."
Thank God an editor didn't see this: I didn't realize they were already mobilizing already.
Black widows killed: Twenty. At least. Wearing rubber gloves, I took apart Cali Jane's doghouse. Found two large ones, complete with egg sacks. Widdle babies! Then I learned a neat trick. The unused pool area is edged in loose rock and covered in the shapeless cobwebs typical of BW's. So, I sprayed. Waited about fifteen seconds. Sure enough, Ms. BW comes a-crawling out from under her rock, feeling poorly. And Oualá: DIRECT HIT. Lather, rinse, repeat, aalll around the pool.
What Elisa ate today: Still queasy from the previous evening's immoderation, she found herself relegated to fresh fruit and unadorned bread slices.
General thoughts: Gah. I hate meetings. I hate them in real life, and I hate them in fiction. In fiction, at least, they can serve a purpose (information dump, character building, etc.). In real life, they're an excuse for people to get hot under the collar and wave their arms around frantically without having to really *do* anything. Yes, I'm freshly out of a corporate job. Why do you ask?
Made-up words: smooshed, torchlit, handspan. Compounding words really pisses Word off.
Barely avoided clichés: A ghost of a smile...
The words I'll hate most to cut: Be smarter than Alodia, my nurse had warned.
"No, thank you, Ximena. I'd prefer the freesia."
Thank God an editor didn't see this: I didn't realize they were already mobilizing already.
Black widows killed: Twenty. At least. Wearing rubber gloves, I took apart Cali Jane's doghouse. Found two large ones, complete with egg sacks. Widdle babies! Then I learned a neat trick. The unused pool area is edged in loose rock and covered in the shapeless cobwebs typical of BW's. So, I sprayed. Waited about fifteen seconds. Sure enough, Ms. BW comes a-crawling out from under her rock, feeling poorly. And Oualá: DIRECT HIT. Lather, rinse, repeat, aalll around the pool.
What Elisa ate today: Still queasy from the previous evening's immoderation, she found herself relegated to fresh fruit and unadorned bread slices.
General thoughts: Gah. I hate meetings. I hate them in real life, and I hate them in fiction. In fiction, at least, they can serve a purpose (information dump, character building, etc.). In real life, they're an excuse for people to get hot under the collar and wave their arms around frantically without having to really *do* anything. Yes, I'm freshly out of a corporate job. Why do you ask?
