wildcat

Michael maintains that the bull riders on TV are actually riding "horsies." This is an ongoing debate.

Got some sad news yesterday; drank some gin and tonics, tilted in honour. The wheel cycles round again.

So, the three day novel began last night at midnight. I worked for about an hour and then passed out, only to get rid of the page and a half I'd managed to get out.

Michael's been blogging about the three day novel experience. We spent the day with Natasha at the Moka House.

I threw out my outline, and then never looked back. Completely different characters, and they're taking me places; I can't tell them where to go (because they'll tell me where to go). I have written thirty pages; I wrote ten pages in two hours today. All the bitter complaining from fiction workshop seems very far away now. I think I'll look at my fiction courses differently this semester (both of them) - having had just one day's worth of the experience.

Dinner at Daniel's tonight. Baked salmon with tarragon and lemon, asparagus, garlic bread, a greek salad, and steamed white rice. The wine was Mission Hill. The whole meal was full-bodied. Good food is so important to me; I don't know at what point supple meals became such an dominant part of my life.

We listened to my Miles Davis ("Some kind of Blue") for part of the writing. Jazz. I remember something my mother said once about liking jazz more and more the older she got, and I think that's very true. I grew up on it and Miles Davis gets better everytime I hear him. It's -- comfort music, like Joni Mitchell is. It makes me feel safe and relaxed and happy. It also stimulates the creative muscles.