Clearly Needs a Title

A plethora of strange dreams had me up very early this morning. I should have written them down, but failed to and now have no record of them. I'm sure they'll pop up somehow in my writing via my already overloaded subconscious.

Writing today resumes as normal, though this computer has been so painfully slow, I doubt I'll get my 3 000 in today. It's already 10:45am and I'm just getting to my post now. To give you some idea, it turned on the computer to load at 8:43am.

Yeah.

There isn't much news from the weekend to state. I went to Lion Dance practice on Saturday, and had a great time, as usual. I'm currently hand-sewing a sleeveless surcoat which should be finished soon-ish and I spent much time on that on the weekend.

Other than that, nothing exciting has happened. Life goes on.

Oh, I should note that, for some reason, The Dying God & Other Stories is up on Goodreads.com thrice. There should only be two versions (Unillustrated and Illustrated) so I'm going to have to take one down today... if I can figure out how. Perhaps I'll get even less writing down now, as I try to figure out how to remove the repeat version of a book.

I should start, so here's today's Forgotten English:

Earth-Hunger

An inordinate desire to become the possessor or tenant of a small holding [of land]. Specifically, the intense feeling evinced by the Irish in favour of a peasant proprietary.

- Edward Lloyd's Encyclopaedic Dictionary, 1895.

Those silly Irish...

Mim

Prudish, prim , and discreetly silent, applied only to women; of contemptuously to effeminate men, as in the phrase, " He's as mim as a maiden." In this sense the word is distinguished from mum, which means silent, or secret only, without reference to sex, as in the current slang, "mum's the word" ... The word mim has a meaning of its own, which should preserve it in the language. It is derived by some authorities from the Greek mimeo, to imitate by action without speaking; whence mimicry, mimic, and pantomime.

- Charles Mackay's Lost Beauties of the English Language, 1874.

Random Stuff

Stuff is, of course, the technical term.

Good news, the flatmate's back after a successful business trip to Toronto. She arrived a little worse for wear - a feat of her own making - but otherwise satisfied. Tomorrow she starts work on a movie being filmed here in Ottawa.

You wouldn't think there are many of those, but it's a steady enough business.

In writing news, I'm now 500 words behind my target, but that's alright. I technically have today off, meaning I can easily catch up. I'll write a quick 500 and then relax for the rest of the day... possibly catch up on The Game of Thrones. What wouldn't I do for the success of George R.R. Martin?

Quite a lot, as it turns out. I'm such a prude.

There isn't much really to say. Training went well last night. I learned the first line of a single stick form, and will probably tackle the applications of the moves next week. Next weekend, it's off to Belleville for a three day Kung Fu workshop. I'm quite excited about that. The night before, it's lesson 4 of Equestrian Archery, provided everyone's schedules line up.

And that's all the news I have. A dull day to be sure. Well, I have to get writing, so here's your almost daily Forgotten English:

Supermundane:

Elevated in nature or character above what pertains to the earth or world; belonging to a region above the world. Humorously or ironically applied to what is ideal, fantastic, or chimerical. Situated above the earth. Adapted from Medieval Latin supramunda [by] Thomas Aquinas.

- Sir James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1919

Perhaps, in that supermundane region, we may be amused with seeing the fallacy of our own guesses.

- Thomas Jefferson's Writings, 1818

Thunderstorms

I just adore thunderstorms. I don't know why that is, it just is. I've loved them ever since I can remember. I love the sound of rain pelting down on a tin roof. I love the flashes of light followed by deep rumbles or sudden, ear-splitting cracks.

One of my fondest memories of home is sitting out on the patio with a hot cup of tea, watching the lightening, and listening to the rain pelt down. It was calming and humbling.

Last night, shortly before I left work at 5pm, Ottawa was hit with a wicked thunderstorm. Lightning, thunder, torrents of rain and hail all rolled into one glorious score of minutes. It was so dark outside it honestly looked like night had fallen.

I adored it (of course, I was safe and sound in the thick concrete walls of the office, staring out the double layered kitchen window). It finished by the time I could get outside - there's nothing to match the smell of a storm; all watery and electric - and so I was a little disappointed.

The storm did, as they tend to do, wonders for the temperature, which soared to a record 42 C with the humidex. It didn't much help the humidity, though. It's very muggy out there this morning.

All of this to say simply that I absolutely adore thunderstorms.

Can you tell it's a slow news day? My raging emotions are now more in check, and I'm right on target with my writing (though sad that I lost my incredible lead).

On that note, I'm going to go now, and start on my next daily 3 000. Here's today's Forgotten English to keep you company while I disappear into the writing process:

Alfridaria

A power which astrologers pretend that the planets possess over a person.

- William Toone's Etymological Dictionary of Obsolete Words, 1832

From Arab[ic] root farada, to define, decree, appoint a time for a thing, with the suffix aria.

- Walter Skeat's Glossary of Tudor and Stuart Words, 1914.

A Gentle Kick in the Pants

I was almost ready to quit yesterday. I was so down, and upset, and discouraged, I was ready to throw in the towel and admit defeat.

Another rejection. Another person who thought my story/my abilities simply weren't good enough. Surely if so many people thought that, then this must be true:

I mustn't be able to write. My stories mustn't be much good at all.

I was, admittedly, not in the best frame of mind for rational thought, but the logic is nevertheless quite sound.

Then along came Gerard de Marigny, a friend and fellow author I met online at LinkedIn.com. Apparently, I roused at him in a conversation. I have absolutely no recollection of that at all... but I don't doubt it. I have a tendency to voice my opinion rather definitely (not cruelly, just decidedly... definite).

He reviewed my anthology The Dying God & Other Stories for me... and I cried a little. It was such a lovely review. You can read it HERE.

It was also a just-in-the-nick-of-time rescue from my melancholic defeat.

Sometimes, I think the universe is trying to tell me something. Let's hope it's not just a cruel prank and I don't end up frustrated, disappointed and bitter...

Only time will tell, I suppose.

Here's today's Forgotten English (I must say, it looks awfully Welsh to me):

Bryn Mawryn

A woman who has been connected with Bryn Mawr College as an undergraduate.

- Howard Savage's Slang from Bryn Mawr College, 1922

Bryn Mawr looks like a Welsh name. I should know - in my story The Taming of Man I (from The Dying God & Other Stories), I have a character Cysgod Mawr. It is a Welsh name, meaning Great Shadow (as in large). Mawr means large/great. Do you think the founder of the college was a Welshman?