It’s been densely foggy for pretty much all of the past three days around here. I quite like it. It’s really pretty, and while it does trap in the acrid exhaust smell closer to the businesses, here in my apartment complex it is currently trapping the smell of someone nearby frying bacon.
It thinned a tiny bit earlier today (you could see the end of a street block) and then it thickened up more than it had been all week, until going outside felt like stepping into a terrible old horror movie where you could tell the budget had run out, so they were desperately hiding unfinished sets with as much fog as they could pump out. If I go running in the dark and the thick fog and I get killed by a monster, it probably serves me right.
Speaking of things serving people right, a man in England moved into a studio apartment on the ground floor of a refurbished monastery and discovered a trap door in his pretty wood floor which led down into an ancient and ruined dungeon. So he went exploring with a friend. Neither he nor his friend were eaten or possessed by the Things With Long Arms and Clacky-Clacky Teeth which had been chained up down there centuries ago, but like me running in the fog, it would have served him right. He’s still living there, so we’re in the early days of this horror movie. I assume he’ll come out of bed one morning to find the trapdoor propped open and small, odd, muddy footprints leading across the floor…
Still plugging away at the book, but about to take a break and go write a bunch of articles for BookRiot, because my vast queue of articles I stacked there seems to have been expended. Fortunately, I have a whole bunch more to write. When I first started writing for them, I was so excited to be doing it and so terrified I would run out of things to say and have to stop that I covered pages with notes, trying to come up with as many articles and ideas as possible. I didn’t use much of it, since I eventually settled into whatever the hell it is you call what I write there. Now, I don’t worry too much about running out of ideas, although I do occasionally worry that I’ll devolve into kvetching about things and render myself irrelevant. Not quite yet, though. Er. I hope.)
Anyway, the novel is ticking along nicely. I’m not that far into it, but I like what’s happening…and best of all, amidst all the flailing of the last few pages, I’ve really come to understand Jenny, my main character. I know what’s wrong, I know what’s good, and I know what makes her tick, jump, and relax. After the opening rush of the book settles down, I can get to exploring her and her situation, and I’m looking forward to that. There are still a lot of things I don’t know, but I trust they’ll be there when I need ‘em. It’s really nice to be writing fiction again. I don’t feel entirely useful if I’m not. (Usefulness and relevancy; the two things I worry about most, apparently.)
I want to talk about Pacific Rim, but that’ll have to wait, because I want to go eat something rather more.