Friends

A very very nice 50th anniversary for them, I was really glad to see so many people could make it.

Current Mood:

tired

http://antwrp.gsfc.nasa.gov/apod/ap090711.html

Noctilucent or night-shining clouds lie near the

Started drafting the new novel in the Black Blade series. Tor hasn’t chimed in on a series name, and I haven’t really decided if Black Blade or the Sarah Beauhall series has more ring to it.

I’m sure the general concensious of readers will call it something. Was at Barnes and Nobles today, picking up my copy of Eyes Like Stars, by Lisa Mantchev. My daughter is taking it with her to Harry Potter camp tomorrow.

 I want to go to Harry Potter camp. How come they don’t do cool things like that for adults? Or am I just missing out on stuff?

Back to the novel, I should be able to keep my existing pace of 2500 words a day. At that clip, 15K words a week, I should wrap the first draft in just over six weeks. Then it’s off to first readers and I devour the growing stack of novels I have sitting in reserve.

I can’t read other people’s long work when I’m writing. There seems to be a disconnect in brain space for me to hold their story in my head, and be making up my own. Just another incentive for me to put down these words.

I got a sneak peek at the sketch Tor picked for my novel cover. More when things are settled, and when the final artwork is done, I will definitely be posting it here. Let’s just say I nearly fell out of my chair. I will publicly state that I feel I’ve hit the cover art lotto.

Very nice boost to my weekend. Getting ready to tackle my words for today before sitting down to watch one of the Harry Potter movies with my daughter. She wants to be ready in case there are trivia questions as part of camp. I think she can tell you just about anything you can think to ask from the books. Very obsessed.

Originally published at J.A. Pitts. You can comment here or there.

I have no idea what happens in the house and I So Do Not Care, but in passing I happened to notice that, with housemates called Noirin, Rodrigo, Siavash, and Sree, the lineup on television is more varied than some fantasy novels I've read lately.

Current Mood:

amused

The stalks' long leaves rustled as he went by. In the distance, corn ears moaned as townsfolk pulled them free. The corn had grown well this year, and the squash and beans, too. They'd all fought our harvesting, and we had the bruises to show for it, but come winter we would eat well.

A couple times we've even found bermuda grass growing in the guest bedroom. That stuff really could take down cities, given half a chance.

Weed some bermuda grass, brush up against a few jumping cholla, and you really could believe that plants have designs on taking over the world.

And yet, in a way that's hard to explain, all of that is tied up in why I love living here.

I wonder if, in some small way, Liza might one day start to feel that way about her world, too, even as she chides herself for being foolish for doing so.

I plan to create another Live Journal account that our tour group can use to blog during our Israel trip. In prperation for that, I am experimenting with posting photos here.

The first photo is from my Photo Bucket account. Its Frank Holder appearing as Bo Peep during an 11 o'clock service a couple of years back.

The second photo, loaded directly from my hard drive, is of the cast of The Passion

Hopefully both will show up.

The charm of this situation is that you're just down the hall from Famous Authors. ::gleeful clapping::

Ian MacLeod and James Alan Gardner have been here since I arrived on Thursday. MacLeod is a charming man, a great dinner companion, and probably a cousin of some degree. (I'm a MacLeod descendant of some sort, I believe). Gardner seems to know something about everything. (And I don't mean that in the 'oh, he's soooo annoying' way. I mean that sincerely.) Both gentlemen have been sitting in on chats in the dorm lobby, sharing discussions on everything from the disappearance of the Manx language to the skills necessary once an EMP knocks out all our infrastructure. Those sorts of conversations.

Cory Doctorow arrived yesterday, with only minutes to spare (OK, maybe an hour) before the ceremony. Although I haven't had the chance to talk to him yet, he is the guy who recommended the Mutter Museum to me, so that makes him pretty cool.

I got to chat a bit with Kij Johnson and Chris McKitterick (and Adrian Simmons) at dinner. At the reception Igot to talk with Lane Robbins. And beforehand I finally got to meet Eric Reynolds in the flesh (rather than his digitized persona). It's also been good to catch up with other people I know here (Kelly, Barbara) and meet some new faces.

I think that's the best thing about the CC. You get to sit down with people and chat. It's lovely. ;o)
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Half these people are on LJ, and I'll insert the links later...gotta go now...

http://antwrp.gsfc.nasa.gov/apod/ap090710.html

What lights up this

gwyndolin

I am not a party animal, and thus have conked out on the 'reception'.

And thanks to a bizarre combination of pabba and marthawells influences, I've been experiencing a day-long earworm of "United Breaks Guitars" and "Happy Birthday, Lisa" fusion.

I get rid of one, and the other pops up. Too much caffiene....

Agamemnon: "Menalaus, my brother, the Trojans have killed you! The Trojans will pay!"
Menalaus: "Chill, it's not a mortal wound. Seriously."
Agamemnon: "The Trojans will still pay!"

The truce falls apart. Men die. We begin to wonder why Agamemnon, whose wife the Trojans did not abduct, seems so much more bent on killing them all (all! all!) than Menalaus, whose wife the Trojans did abduct.

Speaking of Menalaus' ex, no sign of Paris this book. Once can only assume he's still rolling around with Helen.

But never mind that. The thing that's genuinely wonderful is the use of language and metaphor, which very much comes through in this translation, and which makes those battle scenes more compelling than they ought to be.

Screams of men and cries of triumph breaking in one breath,
fighters killing, fighters killed, and the ground streamed blood.
Wildly as two winter torrents raging down the mountains,
swirling into a valley, hurl their great waters together,
flash floods from the wellsprings plunging down in a forge
and miles away in the hills a shepherd hear's the thunder--
so from the grinding armies broke the cries and crash of war.

And there are shorter evocative passages. Including, as men die, the repeated phrase, "the dark came swirling down across his eyes." (shivers)

As lnhammer says, the things Homer does well, he does very well indeed.

Huddled, motionless, silent... frantically looking inert and stone-like. Actually, looking rather dead. A moderately sized little bird. In fact, it wasn't until I watched it for a little bit that I could tell it was even breathing - very shallow quick little breaths.

I called bfly over to admire it, and help keep Lionel away - he was VERY interested, once he realized there was something to be interested in. Much to the tiny thing's dismay, I'm sure. I looked up and saw, almost right above, the half-collapsed nest it had fallen out of... and also up in the tree was momma-dove, watching closely.

We threw the dog in the house, and I got a planter tray full of rocks, added some leaves, and stuck it up on the defunct wall-mount AC outside our bedroom. She donned the vinyl gloves, picked up the rock little bird, and we nestled it carefully up in said 'nest'. In-hand, it was easy to tell what it was, though of course the parent gave a big clue about that as well.

We were a little nervous about the youngster's condition - it' had been brutally hot that day, and it had been in a sunny patch for at least some of that time, but it SEEMED ok, if a bit scrawny. The gloves were to help make sure we didn't bring any mites or disease into OUR birds, if this one had fallen due to sickness.

This evening, however, I managed to snap this happy sight.

And speaking of birds, Six had her well-bird checkup today. She did *NOT* like it, but she was really very well behaved, and didn't bite anybody. Bloodwork will take a couple of days to get back, but all the immediate floats & stains & stuff came back fine. Poor little thing gets so sleepy after stuff like that, she was very happy to get back home and snuggle into her familiar cage. After, of course, a great deal of snuggling on the shoulder.

There is a manuscript in front of me that I'm editing for a particular style issue.

If I get through 25 pages, I get to order the cake.

The Five Kingdoms, on the other hand, are seeing the beginnings of an archaeology. They're on the cusp of 'investigating ruins and learning about the past' and I need to dial down my expectations of what they would be looking for, and "what they find" (in the sense of what they learn from their findings).

( Archaeology and Magic )

As a reverse insight from writing - which is not new, but just slipped my mind for a while - the storyverse - the extent of things that can be done or thought within a particular society - seems no less important in relation to historical periods than it does to other worlds.

Current Mood:

thoughtful