&#034I have a horror of sunsets, they&#039re so romantic, so operatic.&#034 -Marcel Proust

I decided to work on my book yesterday. I didn&#039t add any new materials nor did I type up the next chapter (sorry). Rather, I worked on seeing how far I had gotten in typing my notes up onto the computer. It was in this endevor that I realized that I am far behind in typing up my notes about the current novel and the following eight, and I also affirmed my suspicions that I have notes lying about somewhere that aren&#039t in my green plastic folder from France covered in Buffy the Vampire Slayer stickers, which is what I had feared. <Sigh> That&#039s just more incentive to clean up Kitty&#039s room and my closet, I suppose, to try and locate the missing folder, notebook or loose pages that contain these additional notes which exist currently on the computer alone. But in lieu of finding those other notes, I think I&#039m going to have to stick to typing up the ones I already have because out of 74 pages of notes (I number only the front side, and yes, I do number them all.), I&#039m only on page 45. On the computer in Word Perfect, I&#039m already up to page 60, even farther than I am in the actual book itself (which reaches so far only to page 57). The important thing is that I am working on it even if I should be working on my linguistics reading list or getting ready for classes in some other way (Classes begin August 25.) rather than working on a novel which only a handful of people will ever read. Oh well. It&#039s my baby, the spawn of my seething brain, and I love it. Maybe I&#039ll work on new content at work… which reminds me: I&#039m running late!

Posted: July 26, 2004 at too close to eight for comfort.