This weekend, I’m going to go sit on the porch of Ravenswood and think about revisions. I might tour Carnton. I can’t decide. I hate those stairs. As I hate most stairs. But I hate those stairs.
I read that Joe Hill writes his book and then, once he has a handle on what all the problems are, he just rewrites it, fresh, not using the old first draft even as a guide. I guess then he picks and chooses from between the two versions what he likes best. I kind of envy that and find it frightening. More what I want is to make room for something to grow along side my draft in my brain.
Of all the things in the book, I am the least concerned about the house. I could walk it in my sleep. But I still feel like sitting at a house like that is useful. And finding one the right age is tricky.
On an unrelated note, I haven’t forgotten about October. I just don’t have anything terribly cool lined up for ye olde blog. I do, however, have a couple of uncool things, I think.
Tiny Cat Pants 