The week stretches ahead

And here is a snippet (with a lot of snippings in it) from deep in this novel's bowels...

Urdda could no longer watch the words issue from that calm beloved mouth. She wanted to hear no more, but she had begun this telling, and she knew she would not rest until she had heard it to the end. She took up the shears, and some funeral velvet and bride-sister white that had been pushed by her mother's work to her side of the table, and she snipped small pieces off them, so small that the snippings fell as little more than dust to her lap. The snipping stopped her hands from shaking, and with them the rest of her body. Their slish-slish through the cloth was a calm, mechanical sound behind the other, her mother's voice building a tower, a tower of unspeakable creatures, like kinds of loathsome frogs that had agreed somehow to fit together, to balance and cling to each other and become this structure, however much their instinct was to slide, to ooze, to spring away.

Now I'm about halfway through revising the climactic scene (actually, it contains 25 climaxes); then I just have to kill off one heroine, marry off another and send the third one off to pursue her career in magic.

Oh yes, and revise chapters 1 to 9 to match what I've done in 10 to 12.

Piece of cake.