I can't promise much tonight. Drew made us go to "spinning class," which does not involve twirling about like a pretty ballerina. It involves death and sweat and pedaling and every part of my lower body, and maybe even a few bits of the rest, will be sore tomorrow. I know it.

Long, long, lonnnng week so far. But I did a good number of words on the book today, and hope that means I'm back on track and nearing the finish line.

Then: another screenplay? The finishing of the short stories? The rewriting of the YA?

Somone, a scary financier type, in Nashville asked me for the part of the YA book I had done. It even went so far as to have Christopher print out the first 150 pages (free!) in the business center of the hotel. But then I decided that I didn't want anyone having a copy of the first draft floating around, because that is something that you will always regret. Even if it leads to good things, you'll have to keep explaining why there's that one dialogue passage on page 62 that just says blahblahblahblahfillinlater.

So. Anyway, it will be done soon and then onto other things and onto sending it to people for comments and all that jazz.

Christopher is beginning to work on his Sycamore Hill story, which is a fine thing, since he leaves for it Very Soon. The rest of you busy little Syc Hill bees, are I'm sure, reading this as you take a break to relieve a finger cramp as you write your own stories.

A link from today that's worth it:

The FBI needs the help of teen girls to pose as teen girls and catch creeps online. BeeYOOtiful.

It's the oddest thing, but it's like Buffy ending has given Buffy back to me. I didn't even really want to watch older seasons, because there were such painfully forced and bad moments in the last season. But now, I can't get enough of them and they're so, so good. Odd that the jones for an R.I.P. show can be filled by old episodes, but it seems to be working so far.