Three Month Cold

Before you go thinking I am massively depressed or something, I just finished fighting off a rather nasty cold. I was telling people that I was being attacked by an amoeba. The world of work and study refused to wait for me. I’m still tired.

Eight Little Words

I think I wrote 8 words last night, reread an old copy of Knights of the Dinner Table, and looked at corset patterns–oh, and I played Riven for about a half hour. Anyway, the eight words did not go the way I thought they would. I am, for some reason, refusing to allow Deirdre to be kidnapped by pirates, which is fine. The plot does not depend on her being tossed around at sea. In fact, everything works much better if she stays on dry land, but it would have been nice for a lark.

I think I am overly influenced by the world in which I live. And I’m tired and have had too much work to do. And Karel the robot wants to turn left when he should be walking forward. Mainly, I’m tired and bored. Bored is a good time to write, but tired is not. I have scenes in my head and no energy to work through them before they disappear like a phantom mist of dreams and shadows. [going away for a moment to gag after that metaphor] I think, somehow, if the world would straighten itself out, I could go back to being overworked, underpaid, and a writer in my spare time without any further trouble.

I dyed my hair. Hydriance Ruby Red. You would not believe the compliments I’ve gotten, including from my Mom and everyone at work. I guess I will claim I planned it that way, but the truth was, I was in a grocery store and felt like coloring my hair. The only reds they had were that dark, vibrant, unnatural primary red. I now match my garnet necklaces and feel very much like an anime chick, without the artist’s heavy hand in the area of endowment. I would provide a picture, but I don’t have any yet.

8 words. maybe they will turn out to be an important 8 words…

Of all the luck…

In Sanguine update alert. Well, I was on a roll. Things were going well. My AC adaptor broke. I think this is the fourth AC adaptor in three years. Go figure. I ordered a new one, hoping to get it before we went to North Carolina. No luck. The mailman left a delivery slip in the box on Wednesday afternoon. The post office opens at 8:00 am. We left on Thursday morning at 6:00 am. That means the iBook stayed home. We both got a horrible cold, though, and I stayed home on Monday with it. Or, more correctly, I stayed home on Monday after I picked up the AC adaptor. So, where was it coming from that it took so long? Hong Kong, apparently. I really have to pay more attention when I purchase from eBay. As it was, I had to replace the power cord, or risk electrocution. (I don’t wonder–Does Hong Kong have an Underwriters’ Lab?) All is well, now, and I am attempting to pick up where I left off. It isn’t going so well, though.

Where I left off. Remember the scene on the ship with Phillipe that I posted here some while ago–check the archives if you don’t. Well, it is getting the axe in favor of a more interesting plotline wherein Phillipe and Deirdre are kidnapped by a certain erstwhile member of ‘Than’s future crew. This leave Der at home with the ladies. It also leaves Padge…doing something. I’m rather tempted to let Padge ride around as the Hawk until Deirdre gets back–which will be soon, I promise.

Who is Deirdre, you ask? Who is this Phillipe I keep going on about? This Der person can only be Derian from the excerpts, but lastly, who on earth is Padge? Sorry, but if I told you those things, where would the fun be?

Ruled Britannia

Book Recommendation: Ruled Britannia by Harry Turtledove. Just read it and loved it. Everyone who loves Shakespeare should read this book. If you don’t love Shakespeare, I imagine the dialogue will get to you after a while…but, you’re here reading this, so you can’t be all bad, now can you?

However, be careful with the dust jacket. It likes to be worn by other books, which may cause you to say, “Ack!” on long road trips, when you notice that it has wound itself around a really bad regency romance.

Hacked

[staring in devilishly amused disbelief] We were hacked, can you believe that? I sure as heck can’t. Hacked. Us. The Space Port. But, we’re not that important! I mean, where is the percentage in taking this place out for a few hours? What did they gain? Nothing. I mean, on the scale of importance, The Space Port isn’t even a blip. It shows up somewhere between -1000 and 0. I almost feel sorry for the hacker, if his/her intelligence is so low that he/she can’t see that. Except, I don’t feel sorry for the hacker and believe he/she should be hung up beside his/her figgin. (For a definition of “figgin” see Guards, Guards by Terry Pratchett. And, read the rest of the book, too. You’ll like it.) Well, if anyone from the forums reads this ever, feel free to defame this guy in print.