I'm grinding my gears a bit on this epic fantasy infidelity story. I've been chipping away at it for a couple/few weeks now, and I really just need to plow through and finish the draft, I think. I should also write book reviews. But I'm just not feeling all that writerly. Sitting around and reading? Sounds great. Creating fiction? Not so much. It's not that I'm burned out or overworked or blocked, but that I'm, hmm, insufficiently excited. The story in progress is a neat idea with a sort of hole at its center, and I need to figure out what absence that hole signifies. Something's missing, and I'm not sure what. It requires deeper thought.

Mostly I want to be writing the next Marla Mason book, honestly. I'm excited about that. I might just start on it, even though it's not sold yet. Maybe next month. This month I need to revise a novel or two. Which I'm also not hugely enthused about. (I also don't feel like playing video games, or watching TV, or cleaning the house, or working on Flytrap, or much of anything besides sitting somewhere comfortable with a glass of booze and a book. It's a sort of general malaise.)

I'm reading a neat book, though, Soon I Will Be Invincible by Austin Grossman. Got a review copy in the mail, and the publicity sheet made it sound like a silly superhero novel. I like superheroes, though, so I read the the first page, and found it pretty engrossing, and not especially silly. There are two first-person viewpoint characters that alternate chapters: Dr. Impossible (not to be confused with the character of the same name from The Venture Brothers. Or Mr. Miracle's evil brother of the same name from DC Comics.), a super-genius super-villain with a really engaging narrative voice, and Fatale, a relatively new cyborg superheroine with a much less engaging voice. I mean, her chapters are perfectly okay, but I read through them to get to the Dr. Impossible chapters, mostly. We'll see what it adds up to overall, but I passed a diverting hour with it last night, and that's all I ask of a book these days, really.

The weekend hovers before me, tantalizing. It'll be nice to be home. We may go see a movie. We're babysitting Saturday night, which rather limits the fun we can have, alas, but in all likelihood we'd just hang around the house watching TV anyway. I may blow off writing entirely and take a couple days off, or I may try to finish this story. We'll see how I feel when I wake up tomorrow morning.