Half Sick of Shadows, John William Waterhouse 

Coincidence works best in life; in fiction it has to work harder, pretending to be anything but itself. It has to wear the masque of its cousin, synchronicity, and hide itself within the folds of Fate. (Quoted from my journal.)

Wrote a paragraph last night, a paragraph that began with a good strong sentence. That was nice. The focus of this chapter is Annasara’s death and what it means for everyone involved. Gaius is heartbroken, but there’s more to it than that, and what Vinza thinks affects how the two brothers  interact within the shadows of family tragedy.

Yesterday I really wanted to write more than I managed. Sunday is my dedicated writing day and yesterday was a near loss. That’s not the way I want to go on. So, that dreary list of things I must do at the start of each week will have to wait their turn. I see now I’m going to have to be more efficient on Saturday, and even so, I need four hours of writing time on that day too. Somewhere I’ve got to find a few more hours before Monday rolls around. If I don’t write, or if my time is fragmented, then I’m frazzled and discombobulated for days.


2 thoughts on “sundays

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