Yesterday morning I tucked my Alphasmart (hereinafter known as Alphie) into the bag o'crap that I take to work with me and plunged in. Like I said before, all I had was a mental snapshot but that was enough to begin. I didn't make it far yesterday, not even to 200 words, but it was enough of a start to keep going. This morning Durwood had a very early morning appointment so I took Alphie along, got a cup of decaf (only one cup of caff for me a day), plugged my iPod into my ears playing one of those New Age-y "rain in the jungle" CDs to block out ambient noise, and started typing. I was even able to write with the nurseling in the room. Now that's concentration, don't you think, and I didn't even have the iPod on yet. Once we were home and I'd scarfed down some breakfast I uploaded the file from Alphie to a Word doc and found I had just over 1200 words. That's including yesterday's pittance but I'm pleased. As soon as I'm done here, I'll be back pounding Alphie's keys scrolling words up and out of his small, 4-line display. That tiny screen's why I got Alphie in the first place. I tend to reread and reread and rewrite as I go instead of just flinging the words onto the page or screen so being able to glance up and see only those 4 lines keeps me moving forward. I allow myself to spellcheck once it's uploaded at the end of the day's work but I don't even split it into paragraphs at that point. I'm too unreliable. I know I'd sneak a read and then be unable to resist "fixing" it. And I have my symbolic inner-Hitler (the grammar, punctuation & spelling harpy that lives in my head) sealed in a jar for the duration. If worse comes to worse I can open the jar and throttle her but I don't need to just yet. Maybe later. Today's Photo a Day theme is "colour" (she's from Australia) so I thought you might enjoy seeing the red sky out the back of the dive shop last night. Oh, I can't forget that I promised JJ, one of the dive instructors who also works at a sign company, that I'd sew up some awning canvas for him to pick up later today. Seems he screwed up and they couldn't find any real canvas stores with the time to sew this 18" seam before week after next. It's going to take me no more than half an hour to get the job done, even making a flat-felled seam. Morons. (Sometimes people give me a cramp.) So that's what I need to do first, THEN I can get back to writing. Here's a little taste...
Finn walked faster. It was easy, she was going downhill. She could still hear him breathing behind her, still thought she could feel him getting closer. Why had she agreed to go hiking with him? He’d given her the creeps from the first moment they met and yet she’d overridden her instincts and walked off into the back country with him. Matt Wennig looked like everyone’s idea of a western man, tall and lean with ropy muscles in his forearms and able to walk all day uphill and down. He wore tight, washed out blue jeans, hiking boots, and a worn in cowboy hat. It was the look in his eyes when he thought no one was looking that set her nerves on edge. His public face was open and friendly, he was quick to stick out his hand to shake and quick to tip his hat to a lady, but in repose his mouth was set in a hard line and his eyes were cold and calculating. She first saw him when he was giving an orientation talk outside the Visitor Center in Canyon Village where Finn was staying.
Okay, chillens, that's it for me today. Lots to do.