I just realised that I get to do five whole hours work before I go to the dentist. My brain says "This is good - how about some nice time in the Middle Ages? You spent ten minutes looking at architectural stuff last night, and that's hardly enough to feed an addiction." My other brain says "You're snarky because of the tooth - review a book." Except that I'm all caught up on the book reviews with snark potential. (Also, I don't really write snarky reviews, except in very special circumstances.) And the Middle Ages must wait.
I have about an hour's editing and all the rest is small stuff - a chapter here, a thought there. It's a bits and pieces day. This is probably very good for me, but I'm in the mood to make sweeping statements and pretend that I engage in deep thought and it's not a day for either sweeping statements nor deep thought. After dinner (late tonight) I get to sort some notes, though, which means that maybe, maybe I'll be permitted to actually write fiction tomorrow. My characters are definitely getting up to mischief in my absence, so I hope so. Two of them want to turn the waterways of Languedoc red and blue. Also, maybe there's some thoughtfulness in my weekend. If I'm lucky. Tomorrow - that's for tomorrow. Let me sweep the scrappy stuff out of my lists first.
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