I’m posting this in advance to be published Thursday afternoon, because I don’t expect to be in a position to do anything useful that day. My second knee surgery is happening just before that, and based on the last time, I will still be totally doped up on pain medications come Thursday. Seriously, that stuff sucks my brain cells out. The hospital might as well be a hygienic opium den with really boring decor.
And before then? I’m on the verge of finishing Tangled Magic and my blasted characters are on strike. I really, really want to get the requisite HEA written before surgery, so that after I get out of the opium den I can start proofreading and editing without worrying about the ending pages. So, sorry, unless Elspet Rattray and Lord Kinross manage to communicate with each other today, I won’t have any brain cells to spare before the operation either.
See you guys in a few weeks.
“The best thing for being sad,” replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, “is to learn something. That’s the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn.”
-T. H. White, The Sword in the Stone Read more
I’m in a somewhat bleak spot – I had to take my dog into the vet for that horrible last trip yesterday. She was the second last of the animals we brought out here from South Africa (one cat survives). That was a ruinously expensive exercise – it cost us about 1/3 of what we got from selling our home, and left us in a new country with next to nothing. We did it really tough at first as a result, down to rationing our slices of bread. The cats and dogs ate fish I minced in a hand mincer to get rid of the bones, and – for the dogs (and us) cheap rice. Pet-food was too expensive. But… loyalty calls for loyalty, and we got through it. Ten years later, we’re getting back to where we were, but I came through that at least knowing I had done my best for them. I wish I was one 1/10 as good a man as my dogs assumed I was. Read more
That phrase occurred in a passage Amanda quoted in her Tuesday column, and it… so to speak… caught my imagination. Because that’s not how my imagination – or Amanda’s, to judge from her comments – works. Ha! Imagination should only be so polite as to present itself in long, leisurely segments that fit my typing speed! It tends more to arrive with the speed and finesse of a runaway train!
A long time ago Diana Gabaldon told me something about her writing process that exactly described my own (Yeah, I know, too bad my results aren’t as wildly successful as hers). I’ll try to paraphrase from memory: Read more
The book I’m supposed to be plotting resembles a vast desert sprinkled with various artifacts — a couple of characters here, some dialogue over there, an enchanted swan in the distance — with nothing but echoing emptiness between. The part of my mind that’s supposed to be dedicated to writing seems to be skittering merrily around, pulling up bits of old stories and chattering about current events. Hence this irrelevant and probably unimportant meditation on Thomas the Rhymer, the Wise and Foolish Virgins, and what I am reliably assured is a college loan crisis. Read more
There is not enough coffee.
It’s been a week. And there is not enough coffee. Children packed, house cleaned, Dave readied (though not loaded, le sigh) and many miles fallen behind, and many miles yet to fall. I write this missive from the surprisingly light and airy Secret Lair of the BbESP and her Prince Consort. The Wee and Wee-er Daves are under the kind but skittish care of a family of wolves I befriended a few years back. Last I heard, they’d succeeded in taking down a rabbit, and a brace of unwary graduate students “communing with Gaia.” I’m so proud.
Yesterday was the long run, clocking in at fourteen hours of driving time, and arriving a bit past the mid of night. The next few are going to be pleasant, and relatively short jaunts through Flat Land, with stops for scotch, steak, and company, as well as seeing some genuine Americana, which I love. Most importantly, retrieving Plushy Wendell T. Manatee from the clutches of a vicious band of unnamed semi-feral younglings (really, he just wants a more restful trip). And then, the annual Congregation of the Libertous. Read more
I’m starting to believe normal really is just a setting on a device of some sort, somewhere. Unless, perhaps, you live in a cave, somewhere miles or more from the nearest other human. And don’t have any relationships or concomitant responsibilities. I don’t think I’ve had two very similar weeks in the last couple of years.