AntiCupid

So close to finishing Skelton Yawngrave draft. But still finding dead wood. Pruning is a good (if hackneyed) metaphor for editing. It can seem brutal at the time, but after a damn good edit you end up with a text that is denser, shapelier, and flowers better. Reading that Sol Stein book On Writing, has changed my life.

Broke off to go to the gym. Feels good. Have been using the heart rate monitor on the treadmill to ensure I am in the optimum zone for my cardio work. The formula is 220 minus your age. So if you are a gentleman of 49 this equals 171. This is your absolute maximum 100% heart rate. Ideally to burn fat and get fit without dying, I have learned you need to exercise between 65%-80% of that, so for me anything something roughly around 125-135 bpm is optimal. As you can tell, this gym business is still a novelty.

Called Anton and had a welcome cold lager and long chat with him in the Eddy tonight. We'd not done that for a while. A cold beer on a hot night is a splendid thing.

Went to bed and then, as an amorous couple decided that my tiny front garden was an ideal place for getting jiggy, got up again. Simply turning on a light and opening a window sent them sauntering off without any discernible embarrassment. I am the anti-cupid.

Then there was welcome thunder, and much rain. Calliope hiding under my bed when it started.

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