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I've rediscovered music. Honestly, I didn't notice that I'd lost it until I heard (murmur mutter lionel ritchie's dancing on the ceiling)on the radio. How embarrassing. But it got me thinking and, well, jigging around the kitchen in a slightly unbalanced sort of way. So now I am listening to music at work. Yey.

The writing is progressing. After slogging painfully (oh it was SO painful) through about half a chapter that took eons and which I couldn't get to flow no matter what I did, things are now working better. I can at least edit and decide which of the bits that seem like the characters are just hanging around waiting for something to happen are useful (just boring) and which are there because I was hanging around and waiting for something to happen and which therefore need to be ruthlessly deleted.

I just read Flesh and Spirit by Carol Berg. I'd bought it because, ahem, I liked the picture on the cover and sometimes random purchases like that pay off (sometimes they don't - By These Ten Bones being the other book I did that with recently. Yerg. Though, even reading them afterwards, I really enjoyed Clare Dunkel's goblin books so maybe it did sort of work out). Anyway, the Flesh and Spirit central character, Valen, is packed so full of personality and issues and interesting things that he practically bursts. Which, naturally, makes me worry that my character isn't. And she's not - but is that OK? Do you need to have a really really strong central character for a story to work? If you don't are you laying yourself open to criticisms of your character being wooden or unrealistic? (Like, I seem to recall, the main character in Never Let Me Go is, although I didn't think so). I do need to think about her some more, I do need to bring out what she's like some more, but I haven't decided how much yet (unfocused rant, or what?).

Quick quick baby update: he's getting sweeter all the time (again! More!). We went brambling yesterday (impressive in mid-November - we didn't plan to, we just found them) and he ate an amazing number of them. He has these little whispy blond curls that I can't bring myself to cut off, even though my father keeps insisting that they make him look like a girl (well, I think he said that once, out of ear-shot, about six months ago). Oh the cuteness.

Anyway, I must go home. The office is finally quiet(ish) and everyone else has gone home. At ten past five - how shocking.

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November 2012
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