Sacrifice to Silence: editing, 42 words
AETW: 305 words

I was groggy again when I woke up today. Sigh. I slept well for some of the night, but I was also very cold, and had to get up once to get another blanket. Charlie huddled at my side (later crawling under the covers with me) and Grimoire snuggled at my feet. Eostre doesn’t sleep on the bed anymore, sadly, but she may have been with Cat.

I got up, did a quick e-mail scan, then got ready for lunch and a movie with Ken’s mom. We went out for Thai food, because she’s getting over bronchitis and I decided the soup would be good for her. We shared Tom Yum Kung soup, and I had duck fried rice (pretty good, but I found some duck bones—bleah) and she had garlic chicken. We had discovered that all the matinees had changed, so we came home to watch something on HBO, but eventually decided to curl up with tea and just hang out. Quite pleasant.

After she left, I tried to get down to work. I did some more editing on Sacrifice to Silence, but I’m questioning every change, hearing Kris & Dean lecture about not revising, but rewriting. Should I scrap this manuscript and try again? I shudder to think about it. But maybe I should. I don’t know. Eventually I stopped tweaking it.

I thought about the erotica short-short antho, but couldn’t come up with a scenario or characters. It’s hard to write something reasonable at that length—if there’s no real characterisation, then it’s really just smut.

I still don’t have a firm idea of the story for the Anthology From Hell—I have ideas, but no actual premise. Hopefully my subconscious is close to something, though.

Cat didn’t go to band tonight, so we went and picked up a pre-amp (which is too heavy for us to lift back out of the car) and then went to dinner at Hof’s Hut—grilled chicken and veggies for her, cobb salad for me. And we talked about our food likes and dislikes. This journal seems to be far more about food than anything else, doesn’t it? Sad, really. Especially given that I hate to cook.

Ken’s scheduled to come home tomorrow, but of course there’s always the chance that he won’t. I’m trying not to get my hopes up. In fact, I think I’m already resigned to the idea that he won’t be, so maybe I’ll be happily wrong.

Did a bit more writing tonight—I wanted to watch TV, but convinced myself to work beforehand. Not as much accomplished as I’d like, but I wrote, and that’s what counts. Then I watched Friends and Will & Grace and an old Enterprise episode, and continued weaving the belt I’m doing as a promissory. It’s not so much that I can multitask, than I can’t singletask.