snow is good for revision

I set myself to cut 10% from the first section of my novel (on my 2nd reader's advice {thanks Isaurine}), and I managed to cut 9.85878%, which is as close as a clamshell,* so I'm feeling pleased.
The other part of the planned revision is harder, i.e., to make Carl a little more substantial, get him to stop hiding out between the lines.
I ought to thank the snow and the cold, because they made it easier to stay in front of the computer. Every time I looked out the window and saw the giant icicle hanging from my across-the-street neighbor's porch, I'd shiver, and turn back to get some heat and friction going with the keyboard.
My plan for Carl is to give him a failed relationship--a loss in love is always good copy. And maybe something else, something minor, like a passion for trains or a history of thumbsucking (hey, some very brilliant people used to suck their thumbs--not saying who).
*I've decided to start making up my own future cliche similes.

Outside, it's snowing in a lazy way, and inside my mind is lagging and drifting along with the snow. I've been brainstorming new projects, and nothing is catching me, or catching my interest. My interest is lying somnolent on the bottom of the River of Consciousness, not interested in taking the bait. Or it's hiding in the Jungle of Consciousness, camoflaged by light/shade patterns.
I have time off in which to write write write, and as always at the beginning of that time, I'm floundering. Usually it takes a couple of weeks before I can pull up my socks and start to be productive. If I was smart, I'd build this into my plans:
1/5-1/10: flounder and whine
1/11-1/15: mope and read a mystery you've already read twice
1/16-1/20: decide to redo the dining room and learn how to make strudel
1/21: pull up socks and begin on new novel/novella/story
I've already read the twice-read mystery, so maybe I'm ready to get out the Austrian cookbooks.
Postcript to Nanowrimo: I didn't get anywhere near 50,000 words, but I did come out of it with about 20 pp of a possible novella, sort of alternate-future-ish.