Hey, darlin’s. (Arthur…

Hey, darlin's. (Arthur plays bluegrass and calls me darlin'. I didn't know anyone actually did that. I find it utterly charming. I am now formally adopting the term. :-)

Well, today was a bit odd. I ended up going to a library instead of a cafe; the Rockridge library is new, reasonably cool (compared to my house, anyway), and has outlets where I can plug in my laptop, huzzah. On the other hand, although I spent a good six hours there, I spent the whole time reading instead of writing. On the third hand, I had some ideas for a story that I got all excited about, which I think I can blame pretty directly on all the reading I've been doing. So I went from feeling very frustrated with myself for not working (and guilty -- ah, how the Catholicism does linger...) to realizing once again that reading *is* part of my job, dangit. I ought to have that firmly in my head by now, but somehow it seems I have to learn it over and over again. Maybe it's my Puritan upbringing -- I can't believe that something that brings me such unadulterated pleasure is actually good for me. (Okay, my upbringing wasn't strictly Puritan, but I *did* grow up in New England, which counts for something, I think). Ah well -- I suppose eventually I'll get over it.

Romped through the newest Lackey bardic book (been on a Lackey kick recently; reread Magic's Promise and Arrows of the Queen yesterday and undoubtedly would have read the rest of both series if I could find them). While she may not be the world's greatest prose stylist, she *is* a good storyteller (and I've reread all of Bujold too recently to read her again right now, especially since I seem incapable of reading one Miles book without reading the other ten or so immediately following -- now *there's* a damn good storyteller), and that's one of my weaknesses. Prose stylings I'm getting better and better at. Characterization I can handle. Plotting -- ah, my nemesis. If I could make a living only writing short mood pieces, my career would be made. "Chantal" has more coherent, functional plot than anything else I've written -- and I wrote it five years ago and don't know how I did it. If I weren't so tired, I'd probably get all irritated at myself again...

I did buy some lovely tea today, and since I think I may actually try to write down the (fantasy) story I was puttering with today, I'm drinking it now, despite the fact that it's 10:45 p.m. and I'll undoubtedly now be up past midnight and David's supposed to call me when he wakes up. I *must* remember to buy some padded envelopes tomorrow. Sorry, note to myself. In any case, I recommend the Fortnum & Mason Royal Blend; I enjoyed their Queen Anne, so I was pretty sure I'd like this blend of Indian and Ceylon teas, and I do. A good tea for those who like Ceylon Breakfast or Darjeeling, I think (which is my general family preference in black teas. Kevin and Lisette actually like Lapsang Souchong, which I can't understand...the very smell of that tea makes me feel ill. And David's a Prince of Wales man, which is a serviceable tea, but doesn't excite me. Now that would be a fun, if silly, bit of characterization to work into a story...having everyone drinking subtly different black teas that reflected their characters. What does it say about you if you're an English Breakfast woman, or an Earl Grey man? :-)

It's so nice having a library card again. I had forgotten how much I loved libraries; it was calming just being there today. I spent so much of my youth in libraries; when I got out of high school, I'd often go to the library to wait for my father to pick me up (there wasn't a bus). And since he's a doctor, and it could be hours before he'd have a chance to come get me, he knew that I'd be safe and occupied pretty much indefinitely (or until they closed) at the library. And even before that, during summer vacation in grammar school, he'd drive me and my little sister there at least once a week. And I would argue with the librarian, trying to persuade her to let me take out more than ten books -- 'cause I *knew* ten books wouldn't last an entire week (and I never had the patience to stretch them...I'd read them all in 2-3 days, and spend the next three or four impatiently waiting for the library again...). *grin* I was not a particularly athletic child. Pudgy, would I think be the appropriate word...*sigh* And now isn't nearly as much better as I'd like. Dammit, I know what I want for my birthday -- some willpower! That would come in very very useful...

Okay, enough silly babblings, my dears. Sleep well...

5:30 a.m. The sky is just starting to get light. I may regret this, but...

I drank two cups of tea. I made some curry, and ate it. I finished the Star Trek book I was reading (around 2:30 a.m.). And then I wrote a story.

It may well be an unpublishable story; the only pieces I've seen like it are some of Peter Beagle's (such as "Giant Bones"), and he published his in a collection of his own work -- and I'm *not* Peter Beagle, to be able to get away with that. I'd tell you all about it, but I'll just send it to the readers' list instead. It's fantasy, and set in the same world as that fantasy novel I was working on, lo, these many moons ago. Same characters too. Strange how I suddenly wanted to write about them again.

Well, dropping a note to David to *not* call me when he wakes up, and then I'm off to bed. I hope I think this has been worth it in the morning. I have no sense of perspective or critical reading ability at the moment.

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