I'm in Melbourne,so the writing has been s l o w. Only a thousand or so words since I left home. Total about 8000. Should be 15000 at this stage in the month. When I get home (tomorrow) I'd better get my writing shoes on and get going.
It is so hot here I can't believe it isn't January. 35+ degrees today, and a breeze that is hot, too, so gives no relief. I can feel the moisture being sucked out of me. Beautifully cool in the Victoria State Library, and free internet access for 15 not-well-monitored minutes at a time. A queue forms.
I'm taking notes for my novel in odd moments. Need a completely new subplot and haven't found it yet. Have something that might turn into one. It's a whole new thing for me writing to get the word count up, without editing as I go. I have to put notes to myself in caps to check things (like how long does a fast train take from new york to washington DC)which is not what I usually do).
Am reading a book by Brazilian Clarice Lispector, because a friend said CL was her favourite writer. It is seriously weird and compelling. From p12, "Happiness? I have never come across a more foolish word." Think about that for a moment. I think the idea of happiness, what it is, if anything, what it does to or for us etc etc might be making its way into my novel. Maybe. She takes on the persona of a male writer in the novel, and talks about words, and how the story she/he is/is not writing is all words. A different notion from my current preoccupation with numbers of words - word-counting in a adifferent kind of way. I saw an ad for a biography of Lispector in lrb, might have to follow that up.
Have to go from this computer. Odd, when one is used to being in control of the period of time. More soon.