![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
So last night, after teaching, I intended to go home, sit down, and work on revisions until chapter 12 was finished. I've only got 2 more chapters. A good push would finish things off.
So I turn the computer on, begin reading . . . and the phone rings. I answer, not for me, start revising again . . . and the phone rings again. THIS time it's my editor. She's got the preliminary cover art for the book and needs to ask some detailed questions about my world. We chat, I answer all the questions (Do the men have tattoos on their faces? Is it metal armor or leather armor? How long is their hair? We need to get across that magic is going on here, so any ideas how to do that when the magic is invisible?), and hang up. Back to revisions. Phone rings. Editor again. The artist is having problems with the new standing position of the woman. In particular, he's confused about exactly what her dress looks like. Could I send a detailed, head-to-toe description of the dress?
Of course.
She needs it right away, she'd like to go home sometime that night.
OK. Hang up. Sit down . . . and immediately realize I know absolutely nothing about women's dresses. No technical terms, nothing. I only mentioned two unique features of the dress in the book because I thought they sounded cool. Notice the total lack of practicality in that statement. So I do a rough sketch of the dress (I can hear you laughing![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
comixboy), then try to describe it. The only thing remotely close to a real dress term used is "bodice". Perhaps "sleeves". I did take into account that women have breasts and tried to work around those, although my experience in this department is limited to non-existent. I tried to make her sound sexy and powerful and arrogant and a bitch. Using only clothing. I think I did a pretty good job.
It took me half an hour.
So I emailed that to my editor, who said it sounded good to her. By then, my urge to revise had been squashed and spat upon, so I played Ticket To Ride online for the next hour with evil, eviljennifer_dunne. (Evil because she tempts me away from revising with games.) I won 2 of the 5 games. Jennifer won 2 of the 4 we played. The fifth game was us along with 2 others we didn't know. We both lost that one.
In any case, I woke up early this morning and got busy with revisions because last night was such a bust and got 2/3 of the way through chapter 12. It's a 50 page chapter, so that was pretty good. Hopefully I'll have the revisions done this weekend. That's the goal anyway.
And now for the Indiana Jones moment of the day: After revising this morning, I got around for work. I locked the front door, made sure the back was locked, then went to the garage and opened the garage door. I park outside, so I usually hit the garage door button, duck under the closing door, and walk to my car as it closes. I do this, but as I straighten up outside, reach into my pocket . . . and realize I don't have my keys. I don't have any keys. If the garage door closes, I'll be locked out of my car and the house.
I spin, I lay down flat on the ground, and I roll under the last closing foot of the garage door. DAY SAVED!
After dodging the rolling ball of death on the stairs and replacing my keys with a bag of sand, then dodging poison darts back out through the garage door, I managed to get to my day job on time.
All in a day's work, eh?
So I turn the computer on, begin reading . . . and the phone rings. I answer, not for me, start revising again . . . and the phone rings again. THIS time it's my editor. She's got the preliminary cover art for the book and needs to ask some detailed questions about my world. We chat, I answer all the questions (Do the men have tattoos on their faces? Is it metal armor or leather armor? How long is their hair? We need to get across that magic is going on here, so any ideas how to do that when the magic is invisible?), and hang up. Back to revisions. Phone rings. Editor again. The artist is having problems with the new standing position of the woman. In particular, he's confused about exactly what her dress looks like. Could I send a detailed, head-to-toe description of the dress?
Of course.
She needs it right away, she'd like to go home sometime that night.
OK. Hang up. Sit down . . . and immediately realize I know absolutely nothing about women's dresses. No technical terms, nothing. I only mentioned two unique features of the dress in the book because I thought they sounded cool. Notice the total lack of practicality in that statement. So I do a rough sketch of the dress (I can hear you laughing
comixboy), then try to describe it. The only thing remotely close to a real dress term used is "bodice". Perhaps "sleeves". I did take into account that women have breasts and tried to work around those, although my experience in this department is limited to non-existent. I tried to make her sound sexy and powerful and arrogant and a bitch. Using only clothing. I think I did a pretty good job.It took me half an hour.
So I emailed that to my editor, who said it sounded good to her. By then, my urge to revise had been squashed and spat upon, so I played Ticket To Ride online for the next hour with evil, evil
jennifer_dunne. (Evil because she tempts me away from revising with games.) I won 2 of the 5 games. Jennifer won 2 of the 4 we played. The fifth game was us along with 2 others we didn't know. We both lost that one.In any case, I woke up early this morning and got busy with revisions because last night was such a bust and got 2/3 of the way through chapter 12. It's a 50 page chapter, so that was pretty good. Hopefully I'll have the revisions done this weekend. That's the goal anyway.
And now for the Indiana Jones moment of the day: After revising this morning, I got around for work. I locked the front door, made sure the back was locked, then went to the garage and opened the garage door. I park outside, so I usually hit the garage door button, duck under the closing door, and walk to my car as it closes. I do this, but as I straighten up outside, reach into my pocket . . . and realize I don't have my keys. I don't have any keys. If the garage door closes, I'll be locked out of my car and the house.
I spin, I lay down flat on the ground, and I roll under the last closing foot of the garage door. DAY SAVED!
After dodging the rolling ball of death on the stairs and replacing my keys with a bag of sand, then dodging poison darts back out through the garage door, I managed to get to my day job on time.
All in a day's work, eh?
