So much of writing is waiting. Waiting for checks, waiting for responses to submissions, waiting for paperwork, waiting for answers to questions. The part that's not waiting is working. Neither the waiting nor the working is easy, but the working, at least, feels like moving forward, rather than mucking about in the tar until the saber-toothed cat comes along, licking its chops.

From Last

I wrote. I read proofs. Ayup.

From Last

From Kid vs. Squid proofs

Came home from evening excursions last night to find Kid vs. Squid page proofs waiting at my door. Of the many things that occur in the journey from manuscript to book, getting page proofs is turning out to be one of my favorites. It's the first time that a book starts to look like a book and it fills me with squee.

From Kid vs. Squid proofs

From Kid vs. Squid proofs

And then there's the somewhat more laborious part of publishing, which is writing the durn book.

From Last

I have to admit, I'm just a little bit afraid to start this book. My normal process, which involves writing tens of thousands of words that take the story off in wrong directions and must be deleted and replaced by tens of thousands of new words, is getting a bit old. It's also a waste of time, and I foresee a 2010 in which I'll have to get more work done in a shorter span. So, I want to get this book right the first time. More right, anyway. Pretty right, at least. Less wrong.

I've got by far the most detailed outline I've ever begun a book with, but it's still an incomplete map, and I could easily justify spending another month playing around with it. But it's starting to feel like dithering now. Dithering is something I'm trying to eradicate from my life as much as possible, and if writing is an expression of living, then avoiding dithering in my writing seems worth the risk of getting lost a few weeks or months down the road.

So, okay. Time to light 'er up.

From Lost

My thinking is too rigid.

From Last

Adapting my synopsis into a workable, detailed outline. This is not what I would deem a thrills-a-minute task, but Future Greg will be very happy Past Greg endured the tedium and challenge.

From Last

My awesome editor at Bloomsbury just gave me the go-ahead on the outline for my next book, so I can now commence with the writey-writey! It's a post-apocalyptic upper middle grade called Last, and it's about the last boy on Earth, a broken robot, and a cloned pygmy mammoth. Scheduled (probably) for summer 2011.

You may expect many entries over the next several months consisting of content such as this:

From Last

Working on an October 1 deliverable. The stuff in the cup is a triple-shot Americano. It is my favorite office mate today. It is my personal assistant.

From Last

They seemed serious in their intent.

From San Diego - 2009

But that was only part of the beach walk.

( more pics behind the cut )

I had this brilliant idea that I could sit on these steps and get some work done. There was even wifi! But the glare was just too much. I'm thinking maybe I should get an umbrella. Also, there are some houses around there with nice, furnished decks and expansive views. I'm kinda thinking of house-jacking one of them. Might need some muscle for backup, though. Who's with me?

From Last

I hope to do some semblance of a proper con report, but basically, Comic-Con was a pretty typical mix of "OMG THAT'S SO COOL" and "OMG GET ME OUT OF HERE BEFORE I KILL!"

I met a lot of really cool people. Even though books of the non-comic variety can seem dwarfed by all the other stuff going on, publishers had a much greater presence here than most or all other cons I ever go to.

The panel I was on was moderated by Lev Grossman, Time Magazine book critic, and he posted a little write-up online. Apparently I lobbed a Harry Potter comment that made fur fly, which confuses me, as I saw no furries in the audience, thank you, tip your waitress, try the squirrel.

The write-up here.

Today it's back to work. Doing a bit of polish (with the coarse-grade sandpaper) on the first fifty pages of a new project, and then back to a revision with a deadline that's rushing towards me like a scary fast death monster.

From Last

Life is all about taking chances. Or eating dinner at San Diego Chicken Pie Shop. Maybe I just said the same thing twice.

San Diego Chicken Pie Shop has been around for more than 70 years, but I think it went under modernization around 1974.

From San Diego - 2009

I like a place that's prepared to kill bugs.

From San Diego - 2009

In case the zappers don't get them, the gravy will. I like gravy. Drowning in gravy would be okay with me. In fact, this evening, it was. The difference between a chicken pot pie and a chicken pie is that the latter cannot be bothered with vegetables and potatoes. Fortunately, there was some of each among my fellow drowning victims.

From San Diego - 2009

And without segue, there were little flowers at yesterday's writing venue.

From Last

Frenetic day! Scattered! All over the place! Crazy!

But I did put in the very first words on a new project. Probably not the project I should be working on right now, so it might be a while before more words get added, but I wanted to file the pic here for future reference in case I get a Nobel prize or ribbon at the fair or think back someday and say, "Hey, that project I started once, what the hell was that?"

Also, a podcast of my story Will You Be an Astronaut is up at EscapePod.

From Last

Was working on a borrowed computer while mine was in the shop and lost two days of work, which is what happens when you delete your files before transferring them or backing them up.

No great angst, though, as the work of the last two days scored high on the chunks-blowage scale. The stuff I wrote today was quite a bit better, I think. It was more fun to write, at least.

From Last

This morning's writing session has been made more nerve wracking by the presence of a rooster.

From Last

A few days ago I was feeling anxious about the economy and my place in it, so I made a big pot of chicken noodle soup. There's just something soothing about the alchemy of soup stock made with roughly cut vegetables and the parts of a chicken you'd ordinarily throw away. If I had a yard I think I'd be planting vegetables. Maybe raising chickens, too. When I was a kid we raised chickens in our backyard in Venice, but my participation in this endeavor largely consisted of being attacked by roosters. We never ate the chickens. We never even ate the eggs. I think my dad traded the eggs for more chickens. So I wouldn't really know what to do with live chickens. But give me some factory-raised chickens, plucked and cleaned, and I can produce a pretty decent soup.

I froze some of the leftover stock in ice cube trays and stored the cubes in a freezer bag for future use. There ya go. A little household tip from the city boy.

***

Auditioned Caffe Calabria on 30th Street yesterday. So much good stuff on 30th, from Ritual Tavern and Filter, to Toronado brewpub and Urban Solace and the Linkery, all the way down to Rebecca's in South Park. What a great street for feast and drink.

God, I just made myself hungry.

I'm having trouble getting underway on this new middle-grade book I've been poking at. I'm telling myself that it's okay, though. No sense worrying that the soup's not simmering when I haven't even finished chopping the vegetables.

From Last

A big ceramic cup! Unfussy wifi! Quiet environs! Tables and outlets galore!

This morning's coffee joint audition of Filter in North Park went very well.

From Last

There was no vanilla in my vanilla latte and all my words were crud. And that just about sums up Monday.

From Last