post-election

Word Count:  Hard to say because I will skipping between three different manuscripts.  Going back in for edits, trying to find my way.  Thinking a lot about story and how it's so very different from life.  Like going from a solid straight to a liquid (I learned today that this is called sublimation.  Perfect, huh?)  It's kind of a perfect metaphor, I think.  Take the big solid, heavy chunks of life and sublimate them into a gorgeous, drinkable solution.  Chemistry for writers.

Reading:  Old Filth by Jane Gardam.  It's like a classier Ian McEwan.  All proper British country house blokes with loads of devilish secrets lurking underneath.  I love it.