Still, I have written all of Across the Seven Continents of the Underworld now, and I am, as we speak, blowing off a bit of time in which I sit and do the real writing, which is making sure the tone is right, the words flow nicely, and things such as characters ages don't change dramatically from the first time they're mentioned, to the time they're met. Honestly, you'd think I wouldn't be stupid enough to do that, but there you go. Also, I have to remove all those blacked out bits of text that hid all the valuable plot points, and restructure them for at least the vaguest sense of a mystery. People like a mystery. I like a mystery. I think the book should have one, so it will. In between the killing. So, yeah, this is what I'm doing, and it's pretty much ruling my head space at the moment, which I could kind of go without. I reckon I'm down to weeks before it gets finished, but you know, this shit has a habit of taking longer with the real life events that come in. If I get to say a month from now, "Yeah, I reckon I'm down to weeks," I'll be available to be beaten in the back of some alley between ten and eleven.
Anyhow, what can I say?
Things are quiet, I owe some email, I need to write new scripts for Nowhere Near Savannah, and won't we all be pleased when I don't make posts like this any more?