and then...seashell

I have this crazy metaphor like, when I finish the novel, my perfect man will show up to fill the void. I think if you dance with a void long enough, it starts to take shape. 

The thing is that I am a conch shell and I can not be without a golden ratio, without a Mechanic to tie off my Artistry Translated. 

How romantic is that? I'm a conch shell and you're my golden ratio. Goddamn. >.<

Drafting paper! I got a fresh pad from Target and the pages are nice and thick, the ruling enormous. Paper's my bitch these days, I'm going through so fast. 

Let's talk about redundancy and oxymorons. They are often direct opposites. I have a higher tolerance for oxymorons, though. 

Redundancy first, it's a real problem: 

He circled around the pillar.

Oh for Heaven's sake, you know better than that! Watch:

He circled the pillar. 

That's better. "Circled" is the stronger word. Prepositions are only your friend as far as they act as flags for sentences that need work. Just get rid of those things whenever you can, the sentence is almost always better. Now for the King of Oxymorons:

He confessed his love to me.


If you can say something like that, you either misunderstand the word "confess" or the word "love." Think on that.

Am I writing pornography? Well you would think it, the way my pretty boy Protag carries on with his "looks like snout" and "looks like hooves." He's so precious! I am keeping him safe but he can't escape his own innuendos natural. Or perhaps he is trying to spice things up for me. We don't give a damn, we burn those pencils to the quick. So I don't think I can stand to stay away from my yellow paper any longer