Dot and carry one

I'm sure I've said this before, but I do love when a character carries over from one book to the next: when they come to matter, basically, in ways you never looked for. The way I work, I put people into situations simply because the situations require them [if Marron is to be a squire, then of course there must be a knight for him to, uh, squire; and so enter Sieur Anton]. Some of them earn their place; some seize it and run with it, and carry on. [Enter Sieur Anton, and so the whole course of the Outremer trilogy shifts...] I love it when that happens, when they become first necessary to the story as it develops and then pivotal, when they start to change things on their own account.

Oh, Biao. You bad man...

Immediate gratification, lack of, one

On the other hand: I have done my exercises, and I still hurt. How is this fair?

I am tired of the long haul.

Oh, those evil fuzzbutts

I was sitting up here quietly working, earning us an honest home-baked crust; they meanwhile were downstairs raiding the fridge. I don't know how they got it open - blind fuzzy luck, I suspect.

Total known score: the heel of a ham, the heel of an Italian sausage and two eggs. My lunch, in short.

I am currently stewing carrot-greens in butter, to see if they might make an acceptable filling for an omelette. How sad is that?

The road more travelled

I didn't expect to make it to the Lit & Phil today.

Thing is, alternate Wednesdays, I have to collect my veg bag, from the totally opposite direction; which usually involves going to the supermarket first (which is even further, but in that direction), and by the time I get home, well, another long walk would just seem wasteful. And I can always work at home, right?

Of course I can. Even when I'm ouchie, and the computer here contributes most to that ouchiness, and I know that I'll do more and hurt less at the Lit & Phil...

So. Before and after fetching veggies, I did sit here and write; and grimly, between ouchiness and exercise, I got myself to the very edge of quota. And it was still only early afternoon, and I had eaten lunch (cheese-and-carrot-greens omelette: v good) and I thought, curse it, a walk will do me good.

And went to the Lit & Phil.

But not with the Laptop of Heavenly Perfection, that stayed at home. I just took a print-out of tomorrow's Phantoms story, to work through for cuts'n'such.

And did that, and y'know? I really really like it. It's almost a ghost-story-without-a-ghost, until right at the very end, but none the worse for that. It sits very much at the core of what it is that I do when I write a ghost story; and it's called "Walking at the Speed of Light, More Slowly". Which I like more every time I think it.

And now I'm home, and a turkey-and-pork terrine flavoured with carrot greens is in the oven, and me, I am writing more. Yes, and exercising. Every time I get ouchie. It sort of takes the pain away, if only because it hurts so much...