Another late ROW80 check-in. I’m okay with that. Life has been–well, I’m tired…. tired of teeth that break near weekly; tired of the accompanying needles, the lost time, and appointment after appointment with my dentist.
I like my dentist. He’s a nice guy, and seeing him three or four times a year would not bother me in the least. But it’s over an hour drive to his office from home*, and the commute can get a bit overwhelming when it’s so frequent.
So I’m all out of whack. My check-in is late. A bunch of bills are late too**. It’s not a money issue, but rather one concerning that other more rare and precious currency… time.
I need a Personal Assistant.
The minutiae of this check in involve word counts, projects and personal discoveries. What have I done since my Facebook Mini-check-in on Sunday….
ROW80 in depth
Words Words Words
I’m squeaking by on my daily word count. Squeaking by because I had increased it last week when I signed up for the February Challenge at 750words.com. My actual wordcounts look weird when I see my progress charts because I’ve typed little notes hither and thither and copying and pasting them into 750words when I finally get a chance. It keeps me moving at least. And napkin notes now have a better place than shredding at the bottom of my purse.
I’ve managed about 800 words a day on average since the first of the month. It’s real progress, but now the writing needs focus.
Release has taken back seat lately. It’s hard to concentrate on the story with so many other things demanding to be done. I need some help too–I need a reader, as in someone to read the story out loud to me. I tried putting some of the text into the demonstration version of Natural Readers, but the Microsoft voices mess with my head. The British accent works “okay” and matches the voice in my head, but I don’t feel comfortable spending that much money on the software.
Another editing project I’m involved in is copy-editing a fellow fantasy writer’s manuscript before she submits it to an editor for final review. I’m not moving on it a fast as I would like, but I’d rather take a bit longer than miss something.
Personal Discovery–Spelling and Immersion
To me, the spelling is huge–I’m starting to spell words right that I used to spell wrong all the time.
The squiggly red line that appears as I type has been good to me. I see the mistake, and I retype it, and more and more I am getting that retyped word right without any other help. As someone who has never been a naturally good speller, it’s wonderful to have found a way to “see” the correct word in a way I never could see “spelling words” in school.
Perhaps the passion just wasn’t there then. Spelling matters to me now. I have things to say, and I want people to pay attention to what I write. It’s pretty rude to ask this of people without giving something in return. I shouldn’t make it a challenge for people to read what I’ve written–not right away. I will draw them in slowly with great characters and the harrowing situations they are caught in…
…then I can spring weird place names and story-world languages on them!
What? “No” you say? NO? Oh, ye of little faith… It’ll be fun! I promise.
It can be fun–can’t it? Doesn’t everyone love the way Tolkien created several languages for his stories, how the appendices in the Return of the King took almost half the book?
The geek in me loved those. All of those little pieces and parts of the world that he didn’t place in the Silmarillion (which, imho, was just a bigger appendix for the Lord of the Rings, as was The Adventures of Tom Bombadil)… well, I felt immersed.
And immersion as a personal necessity is something I’ve long suspected. I love to be immersed.
Not just immersion in the mental sense, although that is sublime. I love things that squeeze me, hold me in, surround me, swallow me… Swimming deep under water with its weightless pressure… Being held close or curled up with blankets mummy-wrapped about me… Mmm!
I could probably give a psychiatrist a field day analyzing the reasons behind this, but I have done this from Day One.
Funny story as long as you aren’t my mother…
I was born nearly a month late (due on Thanksgiving, was born on Christmas), and Mom says she became a master at swaddling. As a toddler, I loved being hugged so much that I would walk away with any adult that gave me one… It didn’t matter who, or how many gray hairs it gave my mom.
Being a mother now myself, I can certainly see her concern.
I’m not writing this to say I’m special. I’m just me, and this is part of who I am. I’m starting to see and understand that person more. And as part of last week’s post on revealing myself, I’m sharing this self-discovery with you. Maybe it will help someone, maybe it’ll amuse if nothing more… But it’s here, it’s me, and I think it’s pretty neat.
So, new week, similar directions… and deeper discoveries.
Please visit some fellow ROWers and share some love… Valentine’s Day is coming!
*he’s the dentist I had since high school, and though I’ve tried a few other dentists, I’ve had questionable experiences with most others
**though fortunately only by a few days
- Words Words Words (36/365) (Photo credit: Photosynthesised)
- Deep under (Photo credit: krystian_o)