A week and a day since the evil illness struck, and I'm finally feeling normal again. Well, the majority of the time I'm feeling normal again. I'll take what progress I can.
I wish I could say the same for my work. The dayjob is in a state of flux since my boss' resignation, which makes the atmosphere … not tense, exactly, but it's certainly not as relaxed as I've known it.
And my novel? The one I want revised by the end of the year? Yeah, I'm behind on that. It's hard to concentrate on revising stuff when you can't make your eyes focus, and let's just say I can't trust any of the thoughts I had while sick, since they mostly involved things I'm very sure I don't want in the novel. Like dragons, specifically purple polka-dot dragons. Dragons need not apply for this revision, thank you very much.
The good news is I've been reading the manuscript over, and it's not nearly as bad as I thought. Oh, there's scaffolding (oh my Lord, the scaffolding!) and squidgy spots in the plot and characters who switch names on every page and magic injuries that hurt like the billy-oh on receiving but then magically vanish. Those, given enough time, I can fix. The dodgy ending is a little more problematic. I'm hoping that I'll have come up with a fix by the time the revision reaches the final pages. Optimism much?
What's truly entertaining on a read-through are the comments I've left myself during the first draft:
:: What the hell am I talking about?
:: Anachronism much?
:: Um, no.