Looking Forward

Soooo.... how are you?

I'm good.

Slowly mastering potion-making. I think I ought to have my head read. On the bright side, September officially ends today, and that means I should be getting back to work (on something, I suppose) on Monday. Should be.

It's probably going to be The Great Man. Events in the book keep popping into my head. That means three months of hell. No seriously.

Here's the thing. I don't drive the stories. They drive me. The best recent example of that was the terrible daydream that had me sobbing hysterically moments before Jazz returned from Boston.

It was a daydream. I was lucid. I should have been able to control it. But no. I wasn't. The result was excruciating heartbreak.

Writing The Great Man series has proven to be much the same sort of experience. All the angst and grief and anger are things I tend to feel myself - even though I'm just describing a character's experience. It's a bit like when someone upsets your friend, and you feel upset on their behalf. Only, imagine feeling like that for three months.

And the nightmares!

Oivey! This series takes a lot out of me.

And yet, there isn't any other story I care as much about. There is no other story I've written that drives me to write the way this one does.

It's a little frightening, possibly psychotic, and I'll be very glad when it's over. For now, though, I'll suffer my way through it because, and you can quote me on this, the ending is just beautiful. Like a sunrise.

O.K. Last day of freedom coming up. I'd best make the most of it. Have a great weekend everyone. See you all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Monday morning!

One-Wheeled Coach

The young men of a place, when they know that a young man is paying attention to a girl, seize hold of him and place him in a wheelbarrow in which they wheel him up and down until they are tired, when they upset on the nearest pile or in a pond. To say that a man has "ridden in the one-wheeled coach" is tantamount to the expression that he has gone a-courting.

- Rev. S. Rundle's Transactions of the Penzance Natural History Society, 1886

A-courting. Really?

Pottermore Hates Me

At least, I think it does.

You see, I got my invitation to partake in the Beta version this week, and I was thoroughly excited.

Except that high traffic meant that Pottermore wouldn't load... All day... and then all night. I got in in drips and drabs, even managed to get sorted... shortly before midnight (Gryffindor, if you must know).

The Beta version was opened to a few to test out and suggest improvements. Here's a suggestion:

Get a server that can handle it.

No, seriously. I mean, we're just the test group and we can't get on and enjoy a smooth, frustration free experience. What the hell's going to happen when the whole world jumps on the site?

Seriously. I don't think this was thought through at all.

And that's my griping for the day.

Yesterday was a weird day all around. By the time 3pm rolled around, I was so exhausted I could barely move. I went straight home - no training. Yes, I was that tired. I ordered pizza because I was too exhausted to cook. I ate almost the whole thing before I felt satisfied... and then I got my energy back.

Say what?

I ate well that day (pizza aside), so I shouldn't have been the food. The air in the office is bloody terrible, so I can totally see it being that.

But then, why the boost after the pizza? Is it because the pizza is full of fat and sugar? I don't understand.

Oh well, there goes my weight loss goal at any rate. I'm definitely going to training tonight to make up for all that terrible, terrible, but so yummy, food.

Oh, writing. Right. That's what this blog is supposed to be about. So, in between trying to get onto Pottermore and trying hard not to fall asleep, I worked a little bit on Ethan Cadfael: The Battle Prince. I figured another basic edit would be in order. It's a good thing too. There were still a mountain of typos, and I only got to chapter 3!

I suppose I ought to go through a bit more today.

All-Sorts

The leavings of [saloon] glasses, poured together and sold cheap.

- Mitford Mathew's Dictionary of Americanisms, 1956

A slang term designating the drippings of glasses in saloons, collected and sold at half-price to drinkers who are not overly particular.

- Sylva Clapin's Dictionary of Americanisms, 1902

... or hygienic, apparently...

Now That I've Decided To...

I won't be.

Turns out, things outside of writing are starting to happen, so I'll be not writing.

First on the bill, it's short story judging. I was supposed to do that yesterday, but the computer went berserk at being woken up yesterday and I got close to nothing done.

Luckily, these short stories are quite short, so it shouldn't take me long.

The rest of the day will be spent exploring Pottermore. I got the email late last night, and I'll be jumping on as soon as I can. I can't wait to check it out! I'm such a geek.

Right, must get on with it. Have a great Tuesday all!

Open-Verdict

A verdict returned by the jury... by which it is found that a crime has been committed without specifying the criminal, or that a sudden or violent death has occurred, without assigning any cause.

- Edward Lloyd's Encyclopaedic Dictionary, 1895