The weekend was far from a bust, but I totally sucked on the writing front. I have no idea, and it concerns me on several levels. Is something wrong with me? Is something wrong with the novel? No answers yet. I did get a tiny bit of writing done Sunday night, and it flowed while I was sitting there, but the moment I got up, I had to drag myself back to the chair kicking and screaming and bribing myself with a glass of wine…

What I did do, writing-wise, is finally tackle the filing project that’s been looming over me for lo, these many months. I had, embarrassingly enough, about a year and a half’s worth of rejections, acceptances, contracts, page proofs, and whatnot that needed to be filed. In fact, I found these things in three different places, including a folder labeled “To Mail” (it contained rejections, as a reminder that the stories needed to be sent out again. All of them had been—I think this may have been from when I packed to move from Westminster to Oxnard just over a year ago.). I still have more work to do—twenty or so new folders to make for new stories written, plus printing out hard copies of a whole buttload of stories (thankfully we buy paper by the case and toner in bulk)—but the first, scariest chunk of the project got done. Egads.

I’ve sold 11 stories so far this year, which is jaw-droppingly awesome. That’s almost one per month.

Ken was gone all day Saturday, doing bike repairs with some guys in San Diego, and honestly, I can’t remember what else I did that day. Sunday, we did a big food shopping and picked up some other things (hair stuff, bike stuff), and I made great pizza for dinner. Cat swung by to mooch off our wireless for a few hours, and brought me a limited edition Faith (“From Angel”) bust (that’s a wee bit creepy, actually—has to be seen for the full effect) and some beautiful handmade wooden bobbins. In return, I gave her one of the Serenity posters Ken picked up. (I also owe one to Fran, which leaves two up for grabs. Takers?)

I do realize that my weekends are often recovery from my long, tiring weeks. Sometimes I am just too braindead to be useful and need to recharge. I feel like I’m whining when I say things like that—I know writers who are juggling small children, who are suffering in crap jobs they can’t get out of, who simply have a hell of a lot more on their plates than I do, and still get more writing done than I do. Sigh. But these people (Phaedra and Lisa spring immediately to mind; there are others) are my inspirations, and the best I can do is try to emulate their stellar work ethic.

In somewhat related news, the January Novel Workshop has been cancelled (sob, whimper), which puts slightly less pressure on me to finish this novel by early/mid-December. I need to finish it by the end of December to get my Beautiful Trophy Challenge trophy for the quarter, though.

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Ken spent Monday at a race track, riding his bike around at high rates of speed. I was shattered when I found out it was happening on a weekday (it was organized by BMW, so he had no choice in the scheduling) and thus I couldn’t be there. He called partway through, and he was having such a blast I cannot describe the excitement I heard in his voice. He thought $75 was too much to pay to have someone videotape him and dump it to DVD, and I told him it would be a Christmas present. Dude, I want to see it! Anyway, everyone was impressed by the fact that he could get his big heavy touring bike around the corners with such speed and grace and agility. To which I say, well, duh. It’s Ken.

Today he went down to Orange County, meeting with our financial guy and then having dinner with his family. He’s on his way home now.

And I’m off to curl up in bed with a book and await his return. G’night, pets.

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Currently Reading: All Eve’s Hallows, Dean Wesley Smith; the most recent Faerie Magazine
Lately Listened To: soundtrack to Evita
Recently Watched: Charmed; various Styx things that I’m finally getting off the DVR and onto tape