a tale of a tree sloth.

or, how come it’s so much easier to plot someone else’s book? Emotional attachment? Lack of? Unfamiliarity with the story, so your brain doesn’t fill in the gaps, regardless of how big and chasm-y they are?

There’s a certain confidence-build in being able to see the holes in someone else’s work. Not in a bad way, but in a way of building. Make fix! That’s what I’ve learned this morning, anyway. Or perhaps this afternoon.

I’m feeling very positive, though, in the work-front (work being writing, not the laborious day job business). Which I like, very much.

Today: 778 words on The Place Where We Belong.

Total: 1840

Not much by the standards of many, but if you remember there were years when the wordcount was this much: 0, I will take 1840. And I will take it with joy, and aplombĀ and things that rhyme with orange. Or things that don’t, as the case may be.