Also, yuletide nominations go live on Monday! I'm excited about mine!
Also, yuletide nominations go live on Monday! I'm excited about mine!
( Just look at him not eating the panda and worgen cubs crawling on him. Good bear. )
And now I'm going to wrap up the day by eating orange chicken and watching a the start of a new Hyrule Warriors let's play.
I finished proofreading a novel for Sparkler Monthly and got that turned in--a day later than I'd hoped, but two days ahead of deadline, so we'll call that a win. ^_^ Tomorrow I can get back to rewriting My Love Story!!
I ate most of a pint of raspberries! ("Most of" meaning I shared with scruloose, but he's very kind about letting me hog raspberries shamelessly, because I love them SO MUCH.) I always forget about fall raspberries, but this morning I was briefly talking with Kas, who'd already made his morning market run with wildpear, and he told me there were raspberries and that they were awesome and to tell scruloose to pick some up. *^^*
scruloose and I had a bit of takeout dim sum for lunch when he got back, because it turns out (!!!) we have a Cantonese bakery downtown. With some dim sum options. I don't know why I didn't know this until late last night, and I don't know how long it's been open, but this is AMAZING. (And Google Maps claims it's a seven-minute walk from Casual Job. Dangerous knowledge, perhaps.)
Happy came over to hang out for a few hours! We didn't know she was going to be in town, and I hadn't seen her since...May? Maybe June? She's been hitchhiking and visiting all across the country for the entire summer (including going to the Eclipse festival outside Montreal with scruloose in July), and it sounds like now she'll be back in New Brunswick for at least a little while once she heads back tomorrow, but she detoured here for the weekend. ^_^
wildpear sent me a quick email about something she's writing that I'm excited to see, and also mentioned that she's done a first read-through on some smut I sent her for beta (not the hopefully-funny piece) and that it's looking good. That's a relief. Usually I feel fine about my "quilting" writing process, but I'd revised and tweaked and shuffled and restitched so many things in this fic that I couldn't see anything but the seams anymore.
(We're both trying to get through some things before Unmade arrives--it shipped already!--because it's probably going to swallow her whole for a while, and while it probably won't take over my brain the way it will hers, it'll certainly occupy my head effectively for a bit...and then I'll be back to work.)
And tonight I curled up on the couch with Jinksy at my feet and reread Unspoken in one gulp. Tomorrow, in between doing some rewriting and having Kas and seolh over to watch the Into the Woods Broadway DVD, I'll hopefully manage to at least get started on my Untold reread.
As for the thing that didn't happen...I didn't manage to watch this week's Haven, despite good intentions. And given everything I just wrote about tomorrow (and given that wildpear is coming over Monday evening, and Unmade is coming, and I need to prep for work), I now don't know when I will. Oops? And The Good Wife is coming back tomorrow, I think...and much as I enjoy Haven, The Good Wife gets watching precedence, no question.
“WHAT?” I said again. I tried to lower my voice. “What hasn’t happened in a long time?” I wanted to know, but I wanted to get away from the armful of naked woman remark as fast as possible too. I was shivering harder, in spite of the blanket (or cape), shivering hard enough that my wounded leg was threatening to give way again. You are not going to cave on me, I said to it—telepathy ought to be possible with your own body parts—and tried surreptitiously to press one hand against the thigh of that leg to stop the knee buckling. I didn’t want Murac diving for me. I didn’t want Murac anywhere near me ever again.
“That Defender can understand us,” said Murac, and I thought he sounded wary. I doubted that the tenets of modern feminism were well-known in Murac’s world but if there were women soldiers inclined toward the, um, filleting of insolent men there might be a practical similarity. Gender politics. They are everywhere there are genders. I had spent a good deal of my professional career performing a kind of metaphorical filleting. But that was in my own world where I occasionally had a clue what was going on. I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes again. I was so tired. And confused. And cold. And my teeth were missing Murac’s shoulder.
And the pain in my leg seemed to be occupying most of my brain. There must be something I could usefully be thinking about. If I had a brain available.
Murac wasn’t exactly standing with his hands over his groin but it seemed to me he was standing the way an old soldier might who was expecting to have to protect himself from sudden assault. I wondered how much force someone was allowed to use against his Defender. Even if she was threatening to fillet him.
“I’ve been understanding you right along,” I said. Barring the occasional azogging and giztimi.
Murac shook his head. “Na so much,” he said. “When the stones choose you, eh . . .”
You saw the stones roll. . . . You saw Lorag put them through fire and water and earth. “Lorag,” I said. “Who is Lorag?”
Now Murac definitely looked wary. There was a rumble behind me that was probably Tulamaro. It was a negative sort of rumble.
But Murac straightened out of his slight warding crouch and his face dropped wary and became determined. “Should na have mentioned her,” he said. “She . . .” he hesitated.
Louder negative rumble from Tulamaro.
But Murac shook his head. “Na. Here is Defender. And the stones chose me.” He grinned unexpectedly. The grin was still creepy but there was an edge to it I hadn’t noticed before. “Giztimi, eh? Arnehgh.” Arnehgh ended with a glottal stop like a body blow. And my new insta-translate function told me that giztimi was more runs with scissors than strictly moron—which had been my first guess an eon or two ago—and arnehgh was more loose cannon with the fuse burning than weasel which would probably have been my first guess if Murac was about to say something that would piss off Tulamaro.
There was a low nasty laugh from somewhere behind me. Astur, I guessed. The naked-woman remark had sounded like his voice. He was the weasel. I was pretty sure he’d be out to do Silverheart’s bearer what mischief he could but I wasn’t going to turn around and check his position. Tulamaro didn’t like me but I was pretty sure he thought I was this Defender, and would probably stop the likes of Astur from accidentally killing me—‘so sorry, my hand slipped’.
We’re all going to die . . . drifted unpleasantly across my memory. I banished it. I went on staring at Murac, willing him to say what he was poised on the brink of saying. I stood up as straight as my leg would let me, and tried to look as fierce and Defendery as possible. A blanket was less embarrassing than a rosebud-embellished nightgown but I doubted it was any more authoritative.
“Lorag is our zhulmgwlda,” said Murac, and my insta-translate heaved and fumbled, like someone who has just caught a hot potato and it’s a lot hotter than they were expecting. Random syllables bounced around inside my head, caroming off the skull and going squish splat thud through my ex-brain. Ra lah dlah cors fa mor un ta fat grue blee storn. . . .
I saw a castle on a hill and a banner divided into quarters by two swords, containing a hawk, a sighthound, a horse and a rose. I saw a woman in a high tower with a silky golden sighthound at her feet.
Lady, said the insta-translate. Try harder, I answered.
The woman had been writing. But she now laid her pen down with a sigh, and for a moment she slumped forward, elbows on the table, like any tired, written-out person. I’d done that slump many times, with my elbows either side of my keyboard. Then she straightened and turned toward . . . well, turned toward where my point of view was coming from. As if she saw me.
“Kestrel Macfarquhar,” she said. As she turned, the sleeve on her left arm rucked up, and on her wrist she wore Glosinda’s twin.
Shaman, said the insta-translate.
But I also wanted to do this, which is - post this link (and this picture, holy hell) about Xander and Anya. ( Um - Emma Caulfield and Nicholas Brendon! )
And then this, too. A 'dvd meme'. Basically - find a fic of mine here, at AO3, or even on my website (oh gods i need to fix that so bad....), copy out a 500 or less word passage, and ask me to do a 'dvd - style' commentary. Ask me anything! I'll do my best. Any fic, from the old stuff to the newest, though be prepared for my very poor memory on the old stuff to make me have to give it a really good *think*. Ask me why I choose to write who, how, what...whatever floats your boat.
I've actually never done anything like this before, so - let's go adventuring together! Hehe.
*twirls you all*
I'm on the latest Chrome, on a mac. And that spinner is annoying.
2. Season 2 of Sleepy Hollow resumes on Monday.
3. Day trip on Tuesday for my mom's birthday -- cablecar, riverboat tour and museums!
Pairings/Characters: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Talia Hale, Peter Hale
Word Count: 14,416 (this part)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Derek is seventeen, Stiles is thirteen, they're stepbrothers, things happen....
( Life in the Stilinski-Hale Household: Part Ten )
so many shinies
My floor has shiny now. And the washing basket has gone totally disco.
Yet, strangely, I can see no gaps on the original garment. It still sparkles. So that's nice.
I shook sparkles off everything else in the load and wiped them out the inside of the washing machine and I'm still betting there will be more. and more. and more.
As laundry errors go it is relatively benign, and I might even like the effect, but it still looks like fail so now I feel totally *facepalm*
... little silver dots I will be discovering for a while...
... okay, secretly I am :-) but still also *sigh* ...
On that same note, admitting there are some DVDs you're just never going to watch again. If you haven't cracked them open since college, you are probably fine without them. It's... incredible.
Related: NYC tips and etiquette, seems legit.
I also learned that my gigantic Expedit shelf is extinct! For a good cause, though. So that's something.
P.S. I just watched Pitch Perfect this afternoon. Nobody warned me there would be so much ( apparently everyone else knew about this. )
I think I've figured out why the masala chai wasn't overly bitter yesterday. I think I used half as much tea as I should have for the size of my mug (holds a bit more than two cups of liquid). I did look at the ingredients, and cloves are listed. They're lower in the list of ingredients than I expected, based on how strongly the brew smelled of cloves.