Another day of endless printing stretches out in front of me. And NPR is talking about economic theory, so it’s a put-on-the-music day.

The one advantage to these days is that I can get a lot of writing done–got about 12K on the asylum story in the past three days. (Not consecutively, alas. There’s a bit of a gap, or I’d post another chunk, since yeah, that was a little cliff-hangy. I’m slowly filling it in, but I write like a Venn diagram.)

The barbarian gynecologist’s voice keeps changing on me. He started out very verbose and very sardonic, but he’s getting gruffer and more laconic as time passes. I keep trying to pin it down, but it’s like trying to kill a running rat with a pocket knife–lots of stabbing, not much squeaking. I’ve learned more about his culture, the now-defunct Threnodoxy, than I have about him. (They’re a grim and warlike bunch–sort of Spartans-with-shamanism. And they have two seperate languages for the sexes, a random bit of anthropology I always wanted to dump somewhere.)

It’s a shame, because I loved the line about saving the world, one hooker at a time. I may have to take Eve Forward’s advice and start keeping a deleted scenes file.

Eh, I’ll get that rat yet…

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