I’ve generated something like 17,878 actual, useable, readable words over the past few days. I’ve made precisely zero friends in the process, but I’m edging ever closer to the end of the work-in-progress. In my jaded youth I might’ve been tempted to say I worked another part of my anatomy off, but frankly, that’s way too complicated to illustrate. And besides, it makes me queasy. So, n’mind.
Lest anyone be concerned that I’m really headless (as opposed to merely having my head stuck somewhere else, like, well, out of sight), you can relax. It’s simply a figure of speech. Still, it intrigued me enough to look for headless people who may or may not have done any writing.
Unfortunately, I have no idea if any of the folks pictured here were even literate, let alone writerly. But they did provide me with a topic, of sorts, and now I can get back to some important work–namely hammering out the conclusion to A Primitive in Paradise.
If I can keep writing my head off, I should be able to finish it by [drum roll, please] the end of the month.
It’s damned hard to say. My good guys are all in trouble, and my bad guys are all looking pretty smarmy. The words are certainly piling up, but the idea mill is running on fumes. Can you hear the wheezing?
[Ed Note: These pix weren’t digitally diddled; they were produced long before PhotoShop. It’s my understanding they were the result of some skillful 19th century darkroom work.]
[Random thought: Maybe I should whip up a character named Ed Note….]