Tim Pratt
SF and Fantasy Writer

Exploratored

A very busy weekend, but a lamentably small amount of it involved writing. I got a bit of work done Saturday morning before taking over parenting for the day, then took the boy to see Wreck-It Ralph (amusing, but not amazing) and out for hot cocoa. Night falls so soon that we walked home in the dark, which he found exciting.

Sunday I pretty much did the Dad thing all day, since my lovely wife was off learning how to shoot guns (something any writer who deals with such weapons in their fiction probably oughta do at least once). I took the kid into San Francisco, to wander at the beach and to visit the Palace of Fine Arts and (the main attraction) the Exploratorium. I hadn’t been there in a decade, and it’s still awesome. River and I killed many hours there before returning home.

Heather took the boy shopping after that, and in theory I could have written while they were out, but in practice I just took a nap. (It was a physically exhausting day, and I’ve got a mild cold so I get worn out pretty quickly.)

My schedule doesn’t ease up a lot after this. Deadline at work is sufficiently short this month that I’m not going to get my day off to write at home this week — I need to be in the office all five days. And the week after that has Thanksgiving, which is good for eating but lousy for writing. I have sadly let go of any real hope of getting 50,000+ words done on this new novel this month. I’ll keep documenting my progress, but barring surges of inspiration/unexpected free time, it’s likely to be less-than-stunning.

Word count (for what it’s worth): For the day: 1,346. Total: 12,593.

Notable Line(s): The fat Vegas-era Elvis in a rhinestone jumpsuit with the head of a hog, or the Spider-Man with the head of a fly, were maybe too on-the-nose, but what were you supposed to make of the hulking pro wrestler with a slit-eyed goat’s head, or the Marilyn Monroe standing on a vent with her skirts flying up beneath the long neck and delicate head of a swan, or the astronaut with his helmet tucked under his arm, revealing the gaping face of a trout?

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