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On the left, the beginnings of a guest blog post. Some people indicate a change of thought with a paragraph or perhaps a dividing line. I spin the page around and literally go in a new direction. There are also some random, completely unrelated jots because if I don’t write everything down the second I hear it, it’s gone forever. Not an auditory learner here—must see words to retain.

On the right, the printed version of a first draft (actually, a draft-and-a-half, since I write longhand first and do a little tweaking in the transfer to computer) with pre-second-draft notes in green. This is the cleanest page from the current WIP, as there is still white space visible and also no arrows indicating more on the back. My first drafts are about 90 percent dialogue. (And also single-spaced. I don’t know how anybody reads double-spaced type. It destroys the flow for me.)

There’s a new commercial scolding me people for the wasted paper that would extend in a 12-foot high wall from New York to Los Angeles. The largest part of my environmental footprint is probably paper (I’m pretty conscientious in all other respects). This causes me much shame, but try as I might, I am completely unable to compose on the computer. There’s a visceral element in putting pen to paper that I just can’t write without. (And spinning the ‘puter around to change direction? Not so effective.) I do make a point of using every square inch of paper, front and back, and recycling when I’ve run out of room to scribble.

But if you’re driving across the country and crash into an inconveniently constructed wall of paper… sorry about that.

NB: First two of seven “chapters” fleshed out. I really believed I would have it finished by today, but Day Job was very hostile toward the writing schedule this week. Still plenty of wiggle room with the word count. Hopefully done by next weekend. Done done, as in subbed. There’s the benefit of writing short: not a huge, heartbreaking investment of time and energy.

Blog: Wrote June 20 column for RTB (yes, June 20—I’m still a neurotic wreck about “guest appearances,” and the sooner I get them turned in, the less my sanity deteriorates). The gals’ POV from the Hero Matchmaker thing, and definitive proof that writers are evil. Now it’s official—you couldn’t pay me enough to be a romance novel heroine. If I’m on the schedule after that (heh), I’ll buckle down and do something slightly less fruity.

Please, won’t you think of the starving American children?