Zanny and Lita have grown. They squeak and squabble a lot. Zanny is heftier, and lets Lita have her way about all things. Z also zooms the exercise wheel so vigorously, the cage scoots across the shelf where they live, imperceptibly, until I notice it’s moved half an inch and put it back. Lita is less friendly, and less substantial in my hand. Her soft gray fur makes holding her like holding a wisp of fog, although I think she may be picking up a little. She doesn’t like having the cage cleaned out. After cleaning, I won’t see her for a day. Zanny runs upstairs to the dining room when she hears me, and no longer cringes when my hand is coming toward her. She’ll sit on my bosom and be stroked.
Leta tries, but as soon as I pick her up, she freaks and tries to squirt out of my hand. That’s why their last names are now Squirt, lol. Also, they are squirts.
The rodent sisters kick out quite a few seeds, but not as many as Dmitri did. I brush the kickouts onto the floor and Cobie and Kelly hoover them up for me.
I stopped, for now, the pre-writing, and began…chapter one? Except thinking in chapters doesn’t come naturally to me. With godlight I added the chapter divisions after I started submitting things to my critique group, and I cheated a little by just dividing wherever the point of view changes. So, let’s say I began the first scene. Scenes make sense to me: goal, obstacle, disaster.
I began the first scene and then fizzled. I’m just not there, in the story world yet. I want to be, and I will be. I wish I were stronger about it, and could say, I am a writer, and I make no excuses! I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow myself right into the story!
But yeah, no. That’s not happening.
Zor and I got our books. Because the powers that be aren’t releasing our student loan funds until sometime after the quarter actually begins, we had to pay $20 each to get a “temporary loan,” which irritated me two-fold. First because all loans are temporary, duh; if they were permanent they’d be grants. Second because it feels like a racket to charge us again to borrow the money we already paid to borrow.
Anyhow, I shelled out $340 for three books, two of them used. Zor’s books were over $600. That whirring sound you hear is my Scot ancestors whirling in their graves like gyroscopes.
For now, I must fly. I’m going to write something today even if someone dies in the attempt. I hope not me. That would put a major crimp in my plans.