While we walked he kept a hand thrust out towards the highway, thumb extended.
“Warding charm,” he said in response to my look. “We don’t want anyone to notice us while we’re out here; this makes sure they won’t. Virtually fool-proof except for the actual fools willing to pull over.”
“What do you do with them?”
He shrugged, his shoulders sliding oddly beneath the long coat. “Let them see what I really look like. Most of them assume it’s some bad acid coming back up or a warning from god or something and take off.”
“That’s who pulls over?”
He nodded. “Hippies and good samaritans; they’re both dying out, though, so it doesn’t come up much as it used to. The sixties were a pain in the ass.”
It starts in a month.
Our demographic surveys indicate that many of you will be employed throughout October and November. Because work tends to interfere with the creative process, our team of negotiators have brokered special deals with your managers and bosses. For the next two months, any time spent planning your novel, writing your novel, or chatting online about your plans for writing a novel, will be considered Company Time and will be paid accordingly by your supervisor. Your employers feel that is the least they can do for you.
Also, they say you can print out your novel on the company laser printer when you’re finished.
I really wish I knew what I was going to write. My brain is all cloudy and befoggled.
I want to thank my sponsors for all their support. You guys are the best.
I want to thank all my readers. You helped me get through this thing, which was a lot harder than I thought it would be.
This effort, the money we raised for CapCURE, and especially Vayland Rd. are dedicated to my Dad, who’s dealing with goblins of his own right now.
You keep swinging, old man; I’ll keep handing you the heavy sticks.
Brust’s The Sun, the Moon, & the Stars isn’t about writing. It’s also one of the best books about writing, written by a writer, that I’ve read. A couple of the bits that I read before and liked have been banging around in my head, and I dug out the book and found them today.and
I do know artists who say, “I can’t look at other people’s work while I’m painting because their style creeps in.” The first time I heard that, I did a cartoon of Gauguin’s style creeping into Cezanne’s work, and I called it “Such tragedy.” I thought it was pretty obvious, but the people who ought to get it never do.
I can’t understand that attitude. So, someone’s style has an influence on you. So what? Is his ghost going to come and push your brush around? […] Whoever else you’re looking at, you are the one doing the painting, and that’s that.
When I get this far into a project, it always starts to drag, no matter how excited I am. The important thing is to keep going, and, no matter how much it hurts, to take care that each stroke is applied correctly. A lot of my worst work has been done during the middle stage of a project, when I feel that, if I’m sloppy here I can make up for it later — but you can only repaint something a certain number of times before you’re going to lose some of the luster, or, if you keep wiping things off with turpentine, before you hurt the canvas itself.
I took frequent breaks here; to sit back and rest. I read for a bit, painted for a bit, and read some more. The important thing at this point was to keep going, and not let myself get burned out.
I think I’m going to start carrying my old journal with me. It’s not a big bulky item, and I’d always promised myself that I would eventually fill in all the pages in one of those blasted things, sometime during my life.
I made it pretty far into the journal on my first go-round before things started getting intermittent. Starting the website was the death-knell for the poor little book, but I might be able to fill in a few more pages.
Why? We’ll, I’d like to keep it and a pen handy for those (few) times when I think of something to write down for this book and I don’t have a computer at hand (when I wake up from a dream, or when I’m in the car or at a Con or someone’s house. Something.
On the other hand, a little ‘reporter’s notepad’ is 1.38 at any local gas station, and even smaller than the journal (though it doesn’t have the cool cover.