Sunday Deathmarch*

47,474 / 60,000 (79.1%)

Take another look at that wordcount. It's 47474. I could not do that again if I tried.

Not a bad session, considering I spent a good portion of the afternoon restructuring Chapter Eight and had to stop for dinner and a two-hour game of Disney Monopoly. Yes, my sunny Sunday afternoon consisted of swamp battle, barbecued ribs, Monopoly and cannibalism. There is nothing weird about my life, not at all.

Many thanks to Ohari for explaining to me the proper way to treat an arrow wound. For those of you keeping score at home, you don't want to pull out an arrow because it's duh, triangular, so you'll rip hell out of the victim pulling it out. Best is to shove it the rest of the way through, break off the arrowhead and pull out the shaft. Of course, depending on its placement, you could be screwed anyway.

Today I did a lot of Twittering while working. Here's a few choice conversations:

GINGERSNAPS: It probably isn't proper for me to be praying for a touchdown and then cursing when they don't get it.
ME: God understands. He's an Orioles fan.

ME: Shit! Was staticky, touched laptop and it crashed. Lost four pages. That never happened before. SHIT!

(In other news, Pages sucks ass as a word processing tool. The search for a cheap copy of Word for Mac continues.)

ME: I have the dumb today. Kancethedrus is therefore on copypaste because I keep misspelling his damn name.
TONYMAST: How the hell do you pronounce that??
ME: Kahnss-eh-THEE-druss.

ME: Okay, maybe we should have dinner before I write the cannibalism scene. Because we're having barbecued RIBS.
MARIADKINS: Writing a domestic violence scene. What do I eat before I write that??
ME: Tums.
EVENINGSCRIBE: Oh look, the other white meat!
ME: Halfling: The Other White Meat. Oh, that's a T-shirt waiting to happen. And I'm going to hell.
EVENINGSCRIBE: Please tell me his name is Bob. Please. HalflingKabob!
ME: You are so not right.
EVENINGSCRIBE: *curtsies prettily* Why, thank you!

ME: "Alesia rose, nocking an arrow and searching the shadows for a Target." Do they have discount stores in Dreadmire?

ME: Crap! I need them to pull the fugging arrow out of his chest, but it's dumb to do it in mid-battle... maybe if they cast a shield spell?
EVENINGSCRIBE: Where in his chest? He's gonna bleed out.
ME: It's just a flesh wound. :)
OPALTURTLE: Could they maybe break it off so it's not sticking out so far, then pull the rest out later? Pulling out arrows, particularly in chest wounds, could lead to all sorts of bleeding problems. They wouldn't be able to stop excessive bleeding in the midst of a battle. Which could lead to him dying anyway.
ME: I moved the arrow. That's what's so good about writing; reality conforms to my whim.
PATRICKS: Need to build a giant robot powered by monkeys on bicycles to do my yardwork. But then would have to clean up after monkeys, so perhaps not.

I'm still far behind where I'd like to be - now would be a good time to be done, so I could do minor cleanup from now until deadline. But clearly I only do my best work with my back against a wall. Next: ginormous elf battle.

* Concept stolen from Elizabeth Bear, please don't sue me.