Slow Weekend

I'm having a slow weekend.

Patrick and I moved some furniture around, hung a picture and did some dusting. I made tabouli with a tomato from the Farmers Market and finished reading Sixty Days and Counting, the third in Kim Stanley Robinson's series of eco-thrillers. I guess the series is over, though there is still plenty to tell. Now I'm reading Kelley Eskridge's collection. I could get a lot more writing done if I didn't spend so much time reading.

I realized this morning that the new section I'm writing for the novel is not going to fit. The chronology is off, which means I have to go back and give my narrator a different mother and a different degree of kinship to Ettin Gwarha.

Which is good. There is something creepy about the section as now written. It's a view of Ettin Gwarha's family which I don't like. My goal is to write nice stories about nice things happening to nice people.

Like P.G. Wodehouse or Jane Austen.

Of course, P.G. Wodehouse writes about humiliating events happening to idiots; and Austen writes about a world of icy calculation about money.

But basically they write about nice things happening to nice people.