Jackhammering aside, I managed to get some work done yesterday, adding about 4,000 words to ye olde manuscript. The Bridge novel is about a third of the way done, I'd guess, and the next few chapters are going to be crazy fun. I'm in the middle of a scene I'm kind of unsure about -- I'm afraid it might be too much of a stylistic/tonal departure from the rest of the book. It makes sense in terms of character motivation, and sets up some future events nicely, but it's got a sexual element that seems somewhat out of place. Then again, this novel is partly about the false body/soul dichotomy, so maybe it's important to address sex directly. I'll probably just soldier on through it, and if I decide it doesn't fit later, I can always change it, and come up with some action that's less sexual but that still furthers the same plot/character issues. I'm trying not to worry too much about fine points now, just trying to get the shape of the book down on the page. On the other hand, the better I make this draft, the fewer drafts I'll have to do in the future... Ah, well. I'll just write this tricky scene as best I can, and then get on to the long-awaited road movie scenes. There are carjackings, muggings, and serial betrayals coming up soon.

Besides writing, I did some housecleaning, some laundry, some reading, some drinking, and some napping yesterday. A good day. The way all my days would be if I could write full-time. Ah, full-time writing. Where would I be without that dream? It's important for me to have something to strive toward, and it's good to set the bar higher than I can reasonably reach. Otherwise, I get bored. Someday I'll have to learn the trick of contentment, but not just yet. There's a discussion of the whole writing full-time thing at Charlie Finlay's journal. I think y'all know where I stand in this debate. I'd love to be a full-time writer. But, as Nick Mamatas notes, I could be doing that now if I were willing to sacrifice a certain standard of living. But I like having DSL, video games, decent booze, nice dinners out, and all my other amenities more than I dislike having a day job. (As these things go, I like my day job very much. The only thing I don't like about it is that it is, in fact, a day job, and it can hardly be faulted for that.) I know it's unlikely I'll ever be able to work full-time solely as a fiction writer. But that's why it's a good long-term dream to strive for! Realistically, I hope to be working part-time and writing part-time in a few years. I could handle a 20-hour a week job without getting a bit cranky. In fact, in my more candid moments of self-examination, I can even acknowledge that a part-time job might be better than no job, in that it would combat stir-craziness.

Yesterday evening we went over to David's to see Mary Anne, who's in town for a reading at A Clean Well-Lighted Place for Books in San Francisco tonight. We ate curry and ice cream and it was yum, and lay about chatting for a couple of hours. Holly and Aleister (with a new short haircut!) were there, too, so that was fun. Aleister does a good impression of a ghost. Boo and so forth. Funniest thing: talking about rules you give your children when they're very young that you wouldn't necessarily give them when they're teenagers, epecially, for example, on prom night. Rules like "If it's not food, don't put it in your mouth!" and "You shouldn't lick people!"

And on that note, I go forth into another day...