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Still Pond, Gustav Klimt

The daily weasels, those bothersome creatures disguised as things to do, things that must be done, things that are done and go wrong, have been getting in my way all week–trying to get between me and Shadow Walk, but my read-through continues successfully. As I read, I’m making notes. I remember how I couldn’t think straight about the structure of this book, about the scenes, and what should happen when and where and how, but now having allowed plenty of distance to build up between me and the first draft, I can see clearly what needs fixing.