Was hoping to work alllll day, but unfortunately life interfered. As life is wont to do. However, I did get some good work done--shifted the formatting around and smoothed everything out from the beginning on, getting well past some of the parts I'd left undone because there were too many loose pieces to sort out. It was like ramming a car into a snowbank, because I hit it at high speed, got nice and deeply in, then the life interference killed my engine before I could get all the way through. So now I face tomorrow with a wall of snow before me, a cold dead engine and no momentum. I have no idea if I'll start from there tomorrow, or just skip it again.

The beginning has a flow to it now, and I think it begins to make sense as a story. Like, you pick it up and can get into it and understand what you're reading (at least, you can up till the wall of snow in your face). I don't think that has been the case thus far.

I feel pretty good. I'm nearly flat broke, jobless, and sinking into invisibility in the book world again, with no re-visibility in sight. Bad for the ego, but excellent for getting down to what's important about writing: finding the ideal this particular ms wants to strive for. Nothing to lose, nothing to gain, just me and the ms, alone and pure.