Today, I was going to do nothing. I cannot remember the last day I did nothing. No writing, no errands, no household chores. I was going to catch up on Torchwood, read fashion magazines, make a dent in the to-be-read pile.
I am rubbish at doing nothing.
My brain had these ideas about how to fix the opening scene of Chapter 17 of the novel. And there was a friend's story to read. And... well, at least I'm caught up on Torchwood.
There were also post-dissertation plans. I have the idea for the next novel. I've had it for a while, actually -- the opening section was one of my application pieces for Clarion. Kelly Link told me it was a novel, not a short story. That was something I suspected when I wrote it, but Kelly saying that, well, that's the writerly equivalent of the voice from the burning bush. So I have been planning on writing it, but had put it aside because it required research, and there are only so many things I can do at once.
But then tonight, as I sat down to dinner, I got a first line: "Mariah was fourteen years old the day she first entered the Library."
By the time I got from the table to my office to write this down, I knew what Mariah looked like, and why she was in the Library, and the Scary Danger. And I knew it was a novel. So it looks like I'll be trying something YA while I research the other one. I like having multiple projects to work on. This will be fine.
The Four Felines of the Apocalypse, incidentally, ate half of my dinner.