Life

Woken up by a call from the Muse saying he should know in a week or so whether they'll hire him on. Hurrah for people giving their two-weeks' notice! He says he thinks he might have to threaten to quit in order to get hired on at the level and salary that he should. Awww...whine. That means there's a small chance they'd say, sure, go, and then I'd be back to looking for a job. That would suck. That's life, I suppose. Well, I'd better get as much editing done as possible in the next week, just in case that's the last "alone" time I'll get with my novel for a while. I'm so lazy. I hate myself. I should be done with this fucking thing by now. Yeah, I really piss myself off sometimes.

In other news...I give that bright plastic newscaster grin right back atcha world.

Tonight I am going to see My Big Fat Greek Wedding with fayde. The Muse will stay at home and, most likely, either play excessive amounts of Civ or sleep.

Tomorrow I might go to Cahoots, depending on whether anyone else will be there, and then tomorrow night I'll be going to Fight Club, to read installment 3 of 4 of The Radiator Burped, known to and loved by...a few people. I hope. Laughed at by a lot, which is what it was designed to do. I'm still metaphorically waiting by the mailbox to see if it was accepted for publication. Um, lemme see, one week down, seven to go....

Help! ...Writing.

So I'm rewriting the beginning of my novel, Serenade of Blood & Silver, and need some advice as to which opening I should use. I rewrote the opening because I didn't like the original as much as I thought I should, but now I'm not sure which is better. So just read them and tell me which one grabs you more. Please! Help!

Here is the original:

"Whoa there, ladies, don't get too excited! I've got enough to go around for all of you; there's no call to go tearing my clothes off!" The mares shifted restlessly around Saul, nibbling at the rough haroot fragments he pared off with his worn belt knife. He backed against the fence when another heavy thud shook the walls of the stable nearby. He almost lost his balance, pushing against a bay mare to keep upright. She twitched her skin and shifted uncomfortably. The ruckus in the quarantined area of the stables was making them all nervous.

He'd figured he might calm them down a mite, but his presence wasn't soothing them today. In all his years with horses, he had learned at least one thing: the vicinity of a large, upset, hoofed animal was not the safest place to be. He tossed the haroot into their manger and eased out. He shut the heavy gate and barred it. In the sunwax that Saul had wrangled Madam Dorothy's herd, he had never seen them so disturbed. Today he was backing out of the group pen with bruises and the sleeve of his duster torn by skittish teeth, instead of with hay in his hair and the affectionate stink of horse slobber on his clothes.

( Read the second, dramatically different version. )