I actually managed to get several more hours unplugged than my minimum, though I lost count. 10? 11?
I still find that whenever I get even the slightest bit stuck I want go to check my email. When I remember I can't because the modem isn't dangling from the wall I do settle back down to work. It makes an embarrassing amount of difference to my productivity.
I'm working on chapter three right now, having gone over the first two chapters about five times and gotten to that point I mentioned last week where I felt I was only making things different, not better, and in danger of making them worse. So I stopped.
The sad news this week is that even staying up to dark o'clock didn't net me exactly a poem. Frankly, I'm not sure what this is. Maybe it's my answer to postmodern poetics. Or something. But here it is. A something: "King Orfeo: An Exegesis or: Orpheus was a Liar(1) (1) Lyre! Had a lyre! Or a harp."
Still I had fun. Too late at night.
P.S. You need to read this using a monospace font. Which I have attempted to program in.
Thanks so much for your support of me and of Clarion West!
King Orfeo: An Exegesis or: Orpheus was a Liar(1) (1) Lyre! Had a lyre! Or a harp. When, though guarded by a thousand knights(2) (2) Exaggerate much? Or else If there really were a thousand no wonder the fairies could slip in there and grab her his lady was taken by fairies(3), King Orfeo (3) "For da king o Ferrie we his daert Has pierced your lady to da hert"* [Ferries being damn good shots and ever in need of extra women] all but died of grief.
* sounds like the rap version, doesn't it?
[The full text of the poem is available to anyone who sponsors me in the Clarion West Write-a-thon or will serve as an LJ or Facebook cheerleader.]